Torch Light (Book 1 of the Hayes Files)
by griffyn612
Summary: A wizard can only be in so many places at once. When a threat arises in Chicago, and the resident Wizard for Hire is unavailable, it falls to another to stop the city from becoming a pile of ashes.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Torch Light

Author: Griffyn612

Rating: PG-13

Canon: Book

Spoilers: Spoilers through _Dead Beat_ , with mild reference to subject matter from _Cold Days._

Warnings: Contains mild violence and language

Setting: A fan story of the Dresdenverse. Most characters are new, with a few known characters interspersed.

Disclaimer: _The Dresden Files_ is copyright Jim Butcher. This story is licensed under the Creative Commons as derivative, noncommercial fiction.

Summary: A wizard can only be in so many places at once. When a threat arises in Chicago, and the resident Wizard for Hire is unavailable, it falls to another to stop the city from becoming a pile of ashes.

Chapter 1

The building was on fire, and I knew who was at fault.

Well, not really. I couldn't be absolutely sure. But as I watched the blaze from the sidewalk across the street, I had my suspicions.

A section of the warehouse's roof collapsed as the support beams finally gave out, resulting in a surge of flames reaching high into the night sky. The heat from the inferno swelled, causing myself and the other bystanders to take a few steps back. I cupped a hand around my thick framed glasses, shielding my eyes from the blaze as smoke and cinders drifted my way.

I could feel my pulse quicken as I watched the flames. It was a familiar feeling, and yet at the same time foreign. As if the fire were calling out to me, inviting me to join—

"Woody."

The voice startled me, and drew my attention away from the blazing building. The speaker approached with a glower, her face matching her tone with a mixture of frustration and resignation, and perhaps a dollop of suspicion.

"Captain Crewe, what a pleasant surprise," I replied with forced cheer and a matching smile.

Captain Jennifer Crewe of the Chicago Fire Department came to a halt beside me as my gaze returned to the conflagration. One of her companies was working to contain the blaze, and torrents of water shot out across the night sky to envelop both the burning building and those neighboring it.

As I watched the fires rage, I stole glances at the stern faced woman. It appeared she'd been dragged out of bed by the watch commander. She was in uniform, but only barely. Her shirt wasn't tucked in properly, and her graying hair was making a decent attempt at a jailbreak from beneath her hat; both of which might be expected of anyone at such a late hour, but which looked doubly odd on the exceedingly tidy woman.

As the firehouse Captain, she would have been off duty hours earlier, heading home along with the first shift. That she was on scene in the dead of night hinted that there was something different about this particular call.

Of course, the fact that the flames were _purple_ suggested that as well.

She caught me looking over her disheveled appearance, and I suddenly found her cold blue eyes turned to me. "What brings you here, Mr. Hayes?" Her tone carried a _hint_ of accusation, in the same way a tanker carries a _splash_ of oil.

"I was on my way home when I saw the fire. Decided to stop and check it out." I didn't bother putting any extra effort into convincing her; it wouldn't do any good.

"Convenient, isn't it? Me finding you at _yet another_ suspicious fire." When she turned back to the blaze, I could see the violet light play across her doubtful scowl.

"Well, when I saw the fire from the El, I figured I'd eventually get a call. Why miss an opportunity to see it first hand before investigating?"

She snorted in a very unladylike way. "Or you stuck around to watch your handiwork, like every other arsonist."

My jaw clenched at the familiar accusation. I'd never gotten along with Captain Crewe, which is why I usually tried avoiding her district if at all possible. Despite my record, she continued to drag up ancient history whenever possible. But she was rarely so bald-faced as to label me an arsonist. Not when such accusations had been exceedingly costly in the past.

"Look, are you going to want me on this or not?" I growled in a civil tone. My interest in the fire had plummeted with her arrival, and at that point I decided investigating it wasn't worth dealing with her.

Her response was so long coming, I almost left without her reply. But eventually, she muttered a simple, "We'll see," and walked away.

As she joined her lieutenant, I turned to take one last look at the oddly tinted fire. I meant to step away, but somehow found myself entranced by the dancing flames. A window, somehow remaining intact longer than the others, finally burst as the heat overtook it. Fiery tongues of lilac and plum quickly spilled out, licking at the brick and mortar over the window frame.

I squinted at the building as suspicion began to chew at my gut. There was something more than the color alone that was drawing my attention and quickening my pulse. Something that called out to me and the other pedestrians that had filled the sidewalk across from the blaze. Something… unnatural.

I lifted a hand to my glasses, my middle finger pressing up on the bridge of the wooden frames as I muttered under my breath. " _Pantië_ ," I whispered softly, the word barely audible to my own ears.

The bystander to one side must have heard something odd. He shot me an inquisitive glance, as if trying to figure out what language I was speaking. Slim chance of that, unless he was one of the more fanatical Tolkien fans out there. After a long moment, he returned his gaze to the fire that had transfixed us all, my mumbling forgotten.

As the word escaped my lips, a tingle rippled across the finger touching my glasses. The light of the inferno shifted and wavered in my vision as the glass lenses revealed the truth of the flames.

They still appeared hungry and fierce as they chewed at the warehouse on the south-side of Chicago. To the firefighters and other gawkers present, there was nothing special about the raging inferno save the color of the flames. Perhaps a few would wonder why they couldn't tear their eyes away for very long. No doubt the odd hue would be blamed for captivating them, which would later be explained by the presence of some chemical burning within the building.

But from where I stood behind the police line, I could see the truth. The perceived hunger I attributed to the fire wasn't just poetic license; it was real, as if the flames craved that which would sustain them. Their seemingly haphazard spread was not fueled by accelerant, but by intent.

The flames were _alive_.

The smell of smoke and the familiar feeling of heat on my face finally made me give in to the sudden craving that struck like lightning. I drew out a small snakewood box the size of a pack cigarettes. Snapping the lid open, I singled out a cig and popped it between my lips. I placed the box back in my leather jacket, and then held my ring to the tip of the smoke and whispered, " _Dosta._ "

At the word, the darker band of metal inset into the ring's edge began to glow a warm cerise. I touched the cigarette to it and inhaled, allowing the end to catch. Once it was lit, I shook my hand, as if extinguishing a match. The glow faded as the spell set into the ring ran its course.

A few moments later, an impatient trilling noise from another inner pocket accompanied a sudden and impatient vibration.

Reaching into my coat, I pulled out a second small snakewood box the same size of the first. I slipped the box into the outer breast pocket of my motorcycle jacket, where the top jutted out. The hinged lid of the box pushed itself open just a crack, and a pleased trill emanated from inside.

We watched for a while longer, until something finally gave out. The brilliant hues of amethyst and lavender lighting the streets finally dulled behind the mists of evaporating water. The angry force behind the conflagration relented in its struggle, and the purple fires petered out into the more mundane yellows and oranges of natural flame. In no time at all, the last of the fiery tongues disappeared into the smoky and sodden recesses of the building.

As the fire faded, so too did the majority of the warmth that had been washing over me. The air grew colder, and I figured it was time to get home. I pushed my glasses up on my face and whispered softly a second time, and the world became less vibrant as my vision returned to that of the mundane world. The snakewood box lid snapped closed about the same time, and I slipped it back into the warm confines of my coat.

I waited a moment, allowing the crowd around me to disperse. My fellow witnesses to the incredible all seemed to come back to their senses at once. They'd felt something as they watched those flames, something they couldn't explain now that the fires were gone. They shuffled off into the night, already shaking their heads, as if dispelling any thoughts of magic and wonder.

I shook my own head for a moment, wondering how others could so easily ignore the miracles all around them, easy to recognize for those with a care to see the truth. But there'd been a time I'd been like them. Unaware of the hidden world that surrounded us. Heedless of the extraordinary things that lurked in the night, nor the marvels that paraded by even in the light of day.

I shook my head, in disbelief of their disbelief, before making my way back to the train station, leaving the responders to their duty.

Despite Crewe's reluctance, I knew I'd be investigating the case. There were only so many people you could call in Chicago when unnatural fires raged within the city limits. And assuming they didn't call the guy that might have started the fire to begin with, they'd be left with calling me. No matter how much Crewe might hate it.

With the thought of her discomfort warming my heart, I made my way home. Tomorrow would be a busy day.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Despite my confidence, it was two days before I got the call.

That morning began with the unpleasant jangle of my alarm. I groaned as I slapped the snooze button down on my little red fire engine alarm clock. Through sleep blurred eyes, I glared at the hateful little thing.

It had been a gift from an ex-girlfriend, who thought it was ' _absolutely perfect_ _'_ for me. That alone should explain why she was my ex. After the break-up, the clock had remained stuffed in a drawer, up until the previous week when my old alarm clock had stopped working. I hadn't gotten around to buying a replacement.

But that had just been moved to the top of the To-Do list.

Resigned to my fate, I turned the alarm off before its bells and horns could rattle my teeth again, and got my day started.

After a quick shower and shave, I got dressed and debated what to do about breakfast. I was staring into the fridge, wondering when I'd forgotten to pick up milk, when my cell phone rang.

"Hello," I said somewhat pleasantly after glancing at the caller ID.

"Hey Woody," a smiling voice replied.

"What's up?" I asked Penny Wells, girl of my unfulfilled dreams.

"Tobiah said to have you come in as soon as you can," she informed me in a casual tone. "Any chance that could be this morning?"

"Um," I stalled, trying to recall my schedule. "Does he want the Branson case filed already?"

"No, this is about a new case," she replied, relieving my fears.

I could guess what case. "Yeah, the only thing I have for this morning can be pushed back." The alarm clock would last another day.

"Great," she said cheerfully. "I'll tell him you'll be in by eight."

"Oka— wait, eight?" I replied, shooting a glance at the clock. "Penny, it's already seven thirt-"

My reply cut off when I heard the click as Penny hung up. I stared dumbly at my smart-phone as it returned to the home screen.

"Dammit," I muttered as I closed the fridge door.

I hurried back upstairs to finish getting dressed. On my way out the door, I slipped my phone, wallet, and cigarette box into my pockets. Last in was the second snakewood box, the lid snapping shut on its own as a small orange and yellow tail disappeared inside.

Then I was out the door with my work satchel over one shoulder. If I didn't live only a couple blocks away from the Chicago Fire Prevention Bureau, Penny's request would have been absurd. As it was, I had time to stop at a Corner Bakery to pick up a croissant and hot chocolate. I arrived only fifteen minutes after she'd called, with only a few minutes to spare.

As I entered the turnstile door of the large stone building, I finished off the last of my portion of the croissant and slurped down some coffee. Only a small suite in the building was dedicated to the C.F.P.B., and the foyer was moderately crowded with workers from numerous city departments making their way in, all of them as enthusiastic about the early start as I was. I cut my way through the light foot traffic and headed toward the stairwell. No sense in waiting for an elevator when the Deputy Chief Inspector's office was only on the second floor.

I dropped the empty cup into the trash as I entered the Bureau's office suite. I nodded at the woman seated behind the front desk, who just waved me through. The hallway was lined with office doors on one side and a line of cubicles on the other. I made my way past all of them until I reached the Robbins' suite.

Penny was in the outer room, sitting behind her desk. I shot her a scowl for making me hurry, but she just smiled back and finished up her phone-call.

"Good morning, Woody," she said pleasantly once she was done. She turned her brilliant smile on me, but even that wasn't enough to make me forgive the quick turnaround.

"Ms. Wells," I said with a stern and disapproving voice. "How many times have I told you that I don't come in until noon at the earliest?"

"Well," she replied, her smile undiminished. "The day I work for _you_ , I'll remember that."

My gaze took in her honey-gold hair tied up in a bun, the sharp yet pleasant features of her face, and those beguilingly plump red lips. And not for the first time, I wondered why I didn't bring that particular piece of work home with me.

She smirked as she saw me studying her, and I had the good grace to blush.

"The old man ready to see me?" I asked, forgoing my feigned irritation.

"I'll let him know you're here," she said. But before she could pick up the handset, the inner office door opened, and D.C.I. Robbins stuck his head out.

"Hayes, get in here. You're late," he said in his usual gruff tone. His frown pulled his thick black eyebrows low.

As he stepped back into the room, I moved to follow. I shot a wink at Penny, who spun to watch me go, her hazel eyes sparkling. As she turned in her chair, I saw the spans of leg on display beneath the hem of her skirt. She bounced her leg, making the muscles move in a pleasant fashion.

After a Herculean effort, I managed to tear my eyes away. I entered into Robbins' office and closed the door behind me, leaving the temptress behind before I could get into too much trouble.

Deputy Chief Inspector Tobiah Robbins' office is exactly what you'd expect of a mid-level civil servant. The room was too small for the work he did, the furniture too cheap, and the carpet hadn't been replaced in my lifetime. But the man made it work, and work he did. Whereas others in his position might pass the buck to their staff, Robbins was usually the first in and last out, staying on top of everything under his purview.

His diligence meant that he got my respect. So I figured I wouldn't make a big deal about being called in on such short notice. Especially before noon. If I wanted to work morning hours, I'd get a real job, rather than work as a private arson investigator.

"How you could possibly be late is beyond me, Hayes," he grumbled out as he sat in his lumpy faux leather chair. "You live about thirty seconds from here."

"Your office doesn't open for another hour, right?" I countered.

"And yet Ms. Wells and I have already completed more work this morning than you will all week," he replied. Despite his bark, his words lacked any true bite.

I shifted in my seat and pulled a few folders and notebooks from my satchel. "I'm almost done with the Branson report," I informed him. "Just waiting for some last minute lab results.

He thumbed through the pages. "Hmm… you were right about the accelerant then."

"Of course I was right. I'm always right."

It might sound cocky, but I _am_ always right. At least, when it pertained to arson investigations.

Robbins simply grunted in response, and continued flipping through the report. We spent a few minutes going over particulars, and then touched base on a couple other cases I had open.

We were just wrapping up when his intercom buzzed. He picked up the receiver and listened for a moment. I could very faintly hear Penny's voice carry through the phone. I heard him grunt in confirmation, and then a call was patched through.

"Robbins." He glanced my way as he listened to whoever was on the other line. As he did, he pulled open a drawer and pulled out another envelope, which he proceeded to drop in front of me. "Understood. He'll make it his top priority." The faint voice on the other end said goodbye, and Robbins hung up without replying. Instead, he met my eyes.

"That was Chief Smitts. There was a fire on South-side a few nights ago, near the museum district. He wants you to take a look."

"I figured," I replied as I took up the folder. "I'm surprised he didn't want me on it earlier."

"Maybe you would have, if your name hadn't been on the initial suspect list," he said with a disapproving frown.

"Wow, really?" I said, letting my frustration show. "That fucking bitch tried to—"

"Woody, please," the DCI said, holding up a hand. "She made an inquiry into your whereabouts. You've already been cleared. I was just waiting on Smitts to give the go-ahead, which I was expecting this morning."

"I'm going to sue her again," I mumbled as I read over the report.

"Please don't," he replied, although his tone inferred that he wouldn't blame me if I did. "If you win another case against the city, they're liable to take away my chair to fit the bill." He leaned back in said lumpy but comfortable chair, no doubt paid for out of pocket rather than by office resources.

I simply grumbled as I reviewed the case-file. Sure enough, there was the investigation into my whereabouts. "Looks like they got a spark time already." I glanced up at him. "Good thing I had witnesses that placed me several miles south."

"It worries me just how often I need to confirm your alibi before hiring you," Robbins said with a long suffered sigh.

"Don't look at me," I said defensively. "It's Crewe's fault. Once she spotted me, it was only a matter of time until she dropped my name." Although to be honest, I was surprised that she'd actually tried to pin it on me. It seemed she hadn't learned her lesson.

"Well, you know the name of the game," Robbins said, gesturing toward the file. "Investigate. Find out what's going on, and see if you can make it stop. Then file the reports. Do _not_ set foot in her firehouse, and do _not_ give her any information."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, frowning at the words I was reading rather than what he was saying. "What's this about—" I began, but stopped when I saw him drop two more folders in front of me.

"This was the third purple blaze in the last two weeks, and the largest by far," he said, answering my unspoken question. "All three have been abandoned properties, but the first two were houses. Fortunately this warehouse was empty, but the concern is that the arsonist will step up their game and hit something occupied."

"Why haven't I heard about them yet?" I asked. "You'd think purple fires would be headline news."

"You of all people should know the answer to that."

I nodded, because I did. Head; sand. There were a lot of people that were still worked up over the crazy events of the previous Halloween, and the last thing anyone would want would be more stories of inexplicable disasters. One night of howling winds that chased people down the streets, and an unnatural tornado appearing out of nowhere to tear apart the local college campus, was enough for anyone but the subscribers of the _Chicago Arcane_.

I glanced at the other two reports. Both made mention of the odd purple flames that had petered out into regular hues after a short time.

"You can take those with you," he said, dismissing me. "Let me know what you find.

"Right," I said, sliding the folders into my bag. "For the record, I probably have alibis for these, too."

"I know," he said without looking up. "I already checked up on you."

His words gave me goosebumps, and I quickly finished packing up my things. Even though he hadn't cracked a smile, he was probably joking about that last bit.

Probably.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A short time later found me standing outside the ruins of the South-side warehouse.

After Robbins' parting shot, I'd made a hasty exit. Not even the promise of banter with Penny was enough to keep me there a moment longer than necessary. Not when the man solely responsible for my source of income had all but admitted that he'd had me privately investigated as a potential suspect even before Crewe had leveled her own suspicions.

It's not easy to get by as a private arson investigator. Especially with my spotted history. Robbins was the sole defender I had, and his support was entirely dependent on my usefulness.

If he thought I was lighting fires in his city, I'd already be in handcuffs. No amount of goodwill earned or sense of camaraderie from working together over the last couple of years would protect me if I was suspected of being a firebug.

And there were all too many that were ready to see me taken down for that particular crime.

Putting aside the unease I felt, I made my way past the police tape surrounding the burnt out remains of the building. I already had my consultant badge hanging from my coat's lapel, and the police on duty waved me through after checking my credentials. They offered to escort me, but I politely declined.

Once inside, I carefully inspected what was left of the warehouse. The report had suggested that something in the building had caught fire, leading to the odd hue of flame. Just as I'd guessed that it would. But as this was the third such fire, and there were no accelerant remnants or fuel on the warehouse floor, the investigators on staff were at a loss as to how to explain it.

That's where I came in.

It's not that the Chicago Fire Department's own investigators weren't competent. Nothing could be further from the truth. I knew many of them from my own time on the job. Good men and women, capable of using the resources at their disposal to determine everything about the crime scene.

But sometimes that isn't enough. Sometimes science and reasoning falter. Sometimes the civilized mind struggles to understand that not everything is explained by modern means. In those moments, when everything they know fails to give reason for what they see, they need to look elsewhere.

Good old fashioned magic.

Of course, I can't claim to have a lick of talent in that department. I could operate magical constructs and devices with the best of them, but doing anything for myself? Not on your life. My skill begins and ends with empowering a circle, which anyone can do. Everything else fell to using the tools provided to me, and accessing those which understood the magical world better than I ever could.

"Okay, buddy," I said softly as I removed a snakewood box from my coat. "Time to get to work."

I placed it in the front pocket again, and just like the night of the fire, the lid popped open on its own. But rather than cracking open to let the small occupant look out, this time the lid opened wide, and a yellow and orange salamander sidled out.

Sal isn't your average salamander. For starters, he only looks like the little lizard most people think of when they hear the word. But Sal doesn't eat spiders and flies; he eats char and cinder. And though he has the familiar appearance of the more common amphibian, they don't tend to burp fireballs.

No, Sal was a Salamander of legend; a creature of fire and flame. A magical being hiding in plain sight, worthy of awe and respect from any that meet him.

I was still in my teen years when I named him, so forgive the lack of creativity.

The little guy clung to my coat and scurried up to my shoulder as I looked around. The familiar trilling let me know he was ready to work, so I placed a finger on the bridge of my glasses and whispered the command word for my magically crafted lenses.

" _Pantië_ " I whispered, and as I did, the true world revealed itself.

Most people don't know that magic permeates the world all around us. They never clue to the fact that everything that was, and sometimes even things yet to be, cling to the places and people of the world. Our histories, the things we've done, and the things we may become, all there for those with the Third Eye to see them.

I don't have that ability. And from what I understand, if I did, I'd be quickly overwhelmed with what was there to be seen.

That's where my magically crafted glasses came in handy. When I activated the spell of revealing, the glasses pulled away the curtain of mundane, leaving the incredible revealed, but in insanity-reducing quantities.

As I looked around the warehouse, I could see the remnants of something magical that had preceded me. I knew from my visit the other day that the fire itself, burning under its own power, had been more than it seemed. It had left magical traces on everything that its flames had touched upon.

It was beautiful, seeing the ghosts of those flames flickering transparently around me. But after a few minutes, it became apparent that I wasn't going to learn anything useful. The fire itself was too intense, too imprinted on the warehouse and its contents, to reveal anything other than its fiery specter. Fire is cleansing, and the power of those flames had scoured the place clean.

"You getting anything?" I asked. I glanced at Sal out of the corner of my eye, and watched as he perched on my shoulder, sitting up on his back legs with his tail supporting him. His head sniffed back and forth, as if trying to detect something. Whether it was an odor I couldn't detect, or some supernatural residue beyond my abilities, I couldn't know. But he'd picked up something, and with a startling speed, he scampered down my jacket and dropped to the floor. I had to hurry to keep up with him as he suddenly zoomed across the open space, moving faster than any natural creature could hope to match.

"Hey, wait!" I called out as he moved out of sight. I hoped the cops outside hadn't heard me, but it seemed unlikely. The building was large, and they were only there to allow me access. They were likely back in their squad car, waiting for me to let them know that the place could be sealed up again.

I eventually caught up with the little guy as he sniffed at a particular spot on the floor. It was near one of the other entrances, a side door that led to an alley between buildings. I could see the neighboring structures through the gaping windows overhead.

The place where Sal had settled was just as scorched as the rest of the building. The floor in that area was wood, and I could see where waves of heat had warped and disfigured the surface. The flames had licked at the boards, leaving them black and burned like charcoal.

Except, in the place that Sal had found, the pattern didn't look natural.

The little guy trilled from a spot that looked like every other stretch of floor. The burn patterns throughout the building were inconsistent, rippling out in whatever direction the fire had taken. But all around him, about six feet in diameter, was a nearly perfect circle.

The interior of the circle was burned as well, so it didn't stand out against the rest of floor. But if one looked closely, they could see where a ring had been burned into the wood. It was as if a round branding iron had set down on the floor, singeing that place before anything else had gone up.

That's what anyone else would see, at any rate. With my magically enhanced glasses, I could still see the fiery phantasm swirling around the ring. A wall of fire spun about, burning with a ferocity that I struggled to comprehend.

" _Delia_ ," I whispered, and my vision quickly restored to the banal sights of a burned out warehouse. I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the mental image of the fire. It hung in my sight like a bright light, and I could not blink it away.

"Well, whatever it was, it started here," I said aloud. An affirmative chirp met my declaration. "Any idea what might have caused it?"

Silence reigned as the little creature considered the question. After a few moments, a negative bark accompanied a shake of its head.

"Did you catch the arsonist's scent?" I asked him, to which he replied with an unfavorable chirp, as if he was unsure. "Well, do you think they were at least human?" That elicited a somewhat confident affirmative. "Was it the Wizard?"

The salamander shook its head again. I sighed, wishing for once that things would go the way I hoped. But I'd made sure Sal was familiar with the magical and physical scent of the hometown mage, as most of our cases seemed to revolve around him. If Sal said it wasn't him, it wasn't him.

Which made things more difficult.

"Do you think you can track him?" I asked. The salamander scurried across the floor and ran up my leg, before finally coming to a stop on my shoulder. He sniffed at the air, facing in several directions before motioning toward the outside. "Okay, okay."

After he climbed back into the snakewood box, I headed back outside, and told the waiting police that I'd be just another minute as I walked the perimeter. They waved me on, not even bothering to roll the squad car's window down. I shoved my hands in my coat pockets and walked around the warehouse.

A chirp made me pause now and again, but then another would usher me on. It took a few minutes, and the biting winter cold made me long for a cap. But I trudged along, muttering to my friend in my pocket, no doubt making the few bystanders that saw me wonder about my sanity.

We finally found ourselves back at the front entrance, where a rejected bark confirmed that the little guy couldn't sense a trace of the perpetrator.

"Damnit," I cursed, not at him but myself. I should have had him check for the arsonist's scent the night of the fire, but Crewe had thrown me off. Her, and the fascinating movement of the flames themselves, had distracted me from my duty.

My failure from before meant that I had no lead on who the arsonist was, or where they were. The trail had gone colder than the air, and I wasn't sure where to go next.

Well, that wasn't true. When I ran out of ideas, I always went to the place I knew I could find someone a little more clued than I was.

I went home.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I rode the El back north, and made my way home.

In downtown Chicago, land is hard to come by. There are plenty of neighborhoods further out where family homes were a dime a dozen. But in the city, you either lived in an apartment, condo, or hotel. Not even the rich could afford the price of the land around the Loop to build their mansions. Only the oldest and wealthiest families had managed to cling to their family homes closer to the lake.

No, the only person living in their very own home anywhere near the Loop was your's truly.

It wasn't easy, mind you. I didn't live in what you would normally consider a house. It'd taken some contacts I had in the city planner's office to get the approval to turn my place into a private residence. But even before that, it had still been a house, of sorts.

It had been, in fact, a firehouse.

The old Engine Company 42 Firehouse had changed hands nearly a dozen times in the years since it last housed a firetruck. The narrow, three storied red brick building sat just north of the Loop, surrounded by office buildings, condominiums, and stores. Decades earlier, they'd finished a new firehouse just a few blocks away. When the old one shuttered it's doors, it remained vacant. Owners had come and gone over the years, trying to open businesses in the place, but each one failed for one reason or another.

Part of the problem was that the building was labeled a historical landmark. It meant that only certain renovations could be completed, and no changes could be made to the outside of the building. In short, it meant that the property was more trouble than it was worth.

The other part of the problem was that someone had been actively sabotaging every effort, up until I moved in.

After I won my defamation suit against the city, I'd had a pretty hefty sum to work with. As a lifelong fanboy of the fire department — thanks Dad — I'd already been more than aware of the old abandoned building. When I suddenly had enough funds to buy the place, I'd jumped on the opportunity.

Unfortunately, I didn't have enough money to both purchase it and complete the interior renovations, so it wasn't quite finished. I'd managed to get much of the first and second floors refurbished into a living space, but the third floor and partial basement were still waiting.

It had been in my exploration of my newly acquired home that I'd first discovered the sewer grate in the basement. Curious, I'd gone down to check it out, and had my first run-in with my roommate.

Over a year later, our relationship had significantly improved. When I came calling, he didn't tend to put a blade to my throat.

As I climbed down the ladder into my very own portion of Chicago's Undertown, I made sure to announce myself. Even though we got along, he didn't like unexpected visitors.

"Q, you home?" I called out as I walked down the short tunnel. The space he occupied was under the firehouse, which is why it had remained untouched as other renovations had been made to the sewers and streets all around. The place was lit by a couple bulbs I'd run along the tunnel ceiling. It wasn't much, but I didn't spend much time down there. And the lone occupant typically preferred the dark.

When I reached a wooden door set into one side of the dim tunnel, I knocked out a pattern. After a moment, a surly voice answered.

"What is it, Woody?" Q rasped darkly. One of his eyes appeared in an open knothole in the wood. It was his left eye, as I recognized the red wine color of his cornea. Said eye was scowling at the intrusion of his time.

"Need a quick consult, buddy," I told him in a casual tone.

Q grunted, and his eye disappeared. A moment later, I heard the ratcheting sounds of the numerous locks he kept in place falling free. When the door swung open, a face from a nightmare awaited with a disgruntled scowl.

"It won't take long," I told the goblin in my subbasement, as he shuffled across the room toward his workbench. I closed the door behind me, and watched as the odd little being resumed his work.

At only a couple inches below six feet, Qilluhrang matched the average height for a human. That meant that the goblin was slightly shorter than me, and smaller than many of his kind. Though, I suppose there wasn't anyone that had seen enough goblins and survived to say definitively what their averages were. I assumed Q was shorter than most because that's what he'd told me.

According to him, he was particularly ugly for a goblin, which meant he was somewhat tolerable to humans. His features were just a little too symmetrical for his race, with his left eye only slightly larger than his right. His drooping bat ears were almost identical, except the right was slightly longer in the lobe. It looked like his nose had been broken and set incorrectly, but was otherwise straight. His jaw juts too far to be normal, making one overly long canine on the bottom more notable due to his under-bite.

His skin was the color of spoilt cream, with the slightest ting of jade noticeable when looked at closely. It left his skin mottled, as if the early stages of gangrene were lurking just beneath the surface. But most of his pearlescent flesh was covered that day, as he wore plaid pajama pants and a black White Sox shirt.

The goblin straddled his stool as he cast a glance back over his shoulder. The room had a meager light hanging in the center, enough to glint off the ruby red of his right eye. "Make it quick. I need to finish this."

I glanced over his left shoulder, which sat just a little lower than his right. It looked like he was working on a commissioned work.

"What is that?" I asked, eying the oddly shaped box he was working on.

His head swiveled around quickly, enough to glare menacing with both eyes. "Not yours."

I backed off, sensing that the guy was in a particularly foul mood. "Alright, sorry."

He turned back to the work, his thin and lank hair wisping slightly in the movement. Even in the dim room, I could make out the varying colors of slate shale, copper and clay in the strands. He kept them combed back, but that was exaggerating, as I don't think he'd ever actually seen a comb.

"What is it?" he grumbled, his attention back on the box. It was like a tiny coffin made of a pretty dark wood, with silver and gold inlay filling the unfamiliar etchings in the surface. Silver hinges, similar to what he'd done for Sal's snakewood box, allowed the lid to be propped open. The inside was unfinished.

"I'm investigating a fire," I told him, although he probably could have surmised as much. "Odd thing south of the Loop. Purple flames spawned from magic."

"And?" Q asked, his tone surly. He'd been cooped up for too long, and the few social graces I'd been able to teach him were quickly forgotten.

"It looks like someone created a magic circle with the flame, and it grew out from there," I continued. "No sign of the perp with my glasses, and Sal couldn't catch a tracking scent."

At the mention of his name, the salamander trilled. I pulled his box out, and he clambered out. Rather than sticking with me, he made the short leap onto the workbench, where he studiously inspected Q's work.

The goblin barely spared the little fire demon a glance. "So what?" he grumbled.

"I was hoping for some help in identifying who did it, and how," I said. I settled onto another stool in the workspace, and went on to describe the fire I'd seen several nights earlier, putting emphasis on the emotions it had invoked as I stared helplessly at it.

As I spoke, his attention slowly shifted from the box to me, a thoughtful frown curling his pale lips around the large canine. When I finished, he shook his head. "Plenty of things could make you feel that way. Especially considering your history."

"It wasn't just me," I said defensively. "There were over a dozen bystanders on the street with me. Who knows how many others around the block. They were _all_ fixated on it."

"Hmph," Q grunted, turning his attention back to his box. "Hard to say. Sal saw it?" he asked, shooting a glance at the little salamander that had climbed onto the edge of the box and was sniffing around. Q waved at the little guy impatiently, who barked back at him in his odd little voice.

"He did," I confirmed. "He seems to have caught a scent for the fire, but not the arsonist."

The salamander trilled, and Q grunted again. "He says you haven't paid up yet."

I rolled my eyes, but reached for my pocket all the same. When Sal saw my cigarette box, a duplicate of his snakewood traveling box, he gave an excited chirp. I popped the lid open and withdrew two of the slender objects inside before putting the box away again. The first went between my lips. The second I waved in the air like a stick, and Sal waggled his tail back and forth excitedly.

The little guy leapt from atop the box, landing on my outstretched hand. I held him up to the cigarette, and he belched a small fireball at the tip. I inhaled, helping to get the thing going, and sighed contentedly as smoke escaped the cracks in my lips.

With his job done, Sal eagerly awaited the second thing I'd withdrawn from the box. I held it up next to my shoulder, and he quickly scrambled up. When he was perched there, he took the cinnamon stick from my hand.

As he started chomping on it enthusiastically, I turned back to Q. "Any ideas?" I asked as I took another drag.

My smoking in his lab didn't bother Q. He didn't have human sensitivities to such things, and just turn ed to concentrate on his box again. "The fire must have been intense, to erase everything. Without seeing it myself, I can't even tell you if it was mortal or not. I take it that it wasn't the Wizard?"

He blindly picked up a small can he used for wood scraps he'd carved out, and held it out to me. I noticed he kept his fingers on the paper label identifying a popular bean brand rather than touching the metal itself.

I took the can, and deposited my ash inside. "No, it wasn't him. Sal would know his magic."

"Nothing I can do for you," the goblin said dismissively.

"Alright," I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. Sal sat on my shoulder, munching happily at the spicy bark. A pleased trill escaped him now and again.

Q was my number one source of magical knowledge. He knew more about the world-beyond-the-world than I could hope to learn in a lifetime. Mostly because he'd already lived far longer than a human lifetime, and he was known to many of the denizens of the inhuman community.

If he was stumped, there wasn't much more I could do. I could always head to Mac's, to see if any of the other small-timers in town could help. But their combined knowledge was less than a pale shadow of Q's, and I doubted that any of them would know anything unless they were directly involved. The only other person in town that really knew anything was the Wizard, and I sure as hell wasn't going anywhere near him.

I sat with Q for a while longer, trying to draw the goblin into a conversation. But it seemed that the person who had commissioned the box was overly impatient, and the goblin didn't want to waste any time.

"Well, I'm going to head up," I said finally, once Sal had finished savoring his treat. "You coming up for dinner?"

"No," he responded with a rasp.

"It's enchilada night…"

That gave him pause, and I saw him cock his head to the side. After a moment, he twisted slightly to look back over his shoulder. "Okay."

"That's the spirit," I said enthusiastically. "Eight?"

The goblin nodded, his attention back on his work. I stood up, and started to head out.

"Woody," Q said as I was opening the door. I turned back, and saw that he had paused again, glancing over his shoulder. "You said it felt like the flame was calling to you?"

"Yeah," I confirmed, nodding. "It felt like it wanted me to walk into it."

"Hmm," he muttered, and resumed working on the box. I considered asking what he'd thought of, but knew he'd withhold any speculation. From my experience with him, I knew he was very cautious about what he said. He didn't like to speculate broadly, and would rather say nothing than be wrong.

I gave him another moment, just to be sure, before I headed out. My investigation was cold, but with the arsonist having already set three fires, I was sure that it was only a matter of time until a lead ignited.

Until then, I just had to wait, and hope that he didn't end up killing someone.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I stayed productive the rest of the afternoon, finishing up the Branson case and working on a couple others. That night, Q came up, and we ate enchiladas and watched _Caddyshack_.

I had learned early on in our friendship that Q was a big Bill Murray fan. When we first started having movie nights, he'd always wanted to watch films about the supernatural. That mostly meant horror films, which would keep him laughing for hours. They seemed to be the magical world's equivalent of romantic comedies, and they always sent him tumbling off the couch in rasping laughter when a ghost or demon eviscerated some college coed.

One day, I'd put _Ghostbusters_ on, hoping to keep with the theme but branch out of Q's comfort zone. Little did I suspect the obsession I was beginning. From then on, our evening entertainment varied evenly between Murray films and horror flicks. I'd lost count of how many times we'd watched _Groundhog Day_.

When I'd asked what it was about Bill Murray that he liked so much, Q had just shaken his head and said, "He gets it." When I pressed for more information, he'd simply said, "He gets you humans."

I pointed out that of course Bill Murray got humans. He was one.

That sent him into another giggle fit.

After we'd eaten, I managed to subtly inquire about the living fire again, but Q had nothing new to share. If he had any theories, he was keeping them to himself. I let it slide, as there was no point in pressing the issue. He'd tell me when he was sure.

I checked in with the Deputy Chief Inspector the next day. He was nonplussed about my lack of progress in the arsonist case. Despite my reputation for satisfactorily explaining the unexplainable, he knew that I wasn't a miracle worker. Solving it after twenty-four hours was more than he could expect, even if I had hoped to do just that. The fires had each been three nights apart, and that night would very likely see a repeat performance, if they kept to the schedule.

After our meeting, I lingered for a moment to flirt with Penny. I didn't stay long, though, as Robbins' subtle comment from the day before about having checked my alibi for the other fires left me feeling cautious. As my income was entirely dependent on the department those days, I couldn't help but worry about what would happen if I took things to far. Penny seemed interested, but if it ended badly, it could cost me more than just a relationship.

That afternoon I made my way out to the suburbs, where I checked over the sights of the previous two fires. My hopes were low that anything would be left to help us. The warehouse had been purged of all the ghostly remnants of the place, and the two vacant homes were more of the same. The only thing to see were the fiery apparitions, and Sal found nothing.

I could have gone through the effort of giving all three sites a proper investigation, but I'd reviewed the initial investigators' notes, and they'd done a fine job. The police had combed all three sites for clues as well, but nothing was discovered. It seemed that the intense flames burned away not only the metaphysical clues I needed, but the physical ones as well.

After a day of traipsing about on the trains, I headed home and settled in for the night. Q didn't come up, as he was finishing the morbid box.

I'd fallen asleep on the couch, watching the Wednesday night prime-time line-up, when a sharp trill awoke me.

I stirred, and found Sal scampering back and forth across the back of the couch. He'd chirped in my ear, but was too excited to sit still. I sat up, trying to brush the sleep from my brain.

"What is it, buddy?" I asked, looking around to see what time it was.

The salamander stopped and sat back on his tail. After a moment of concentration, he belched out a little purple flame.

"Oh," I said, adrenaline flooding my veins as I realized what he was saying. "You smell the fire?"

An affirmative chirp sent me scrambling to get ready. By the time I was dressed, he was sitting on his snakewood box on the front hall table, bouncing excitedly.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I told him. He slid into his box just a moment before I snatched it and my things up. Then I was running toward the front, where I slid into the small garage.

The front of the old firehouse consisted of an entrance door and a tall window on opposite sides of the main firetruck lift door. Originally, the entire front of the building had been open floor to allow for the fire carriage, and later a truck, to be parked inside. A few renovations later, the place had been a jumble of walls, as people tried to turn it into a flower shop, and then a pawn exchange, and finally a feeble attempt at office space.

I'd torn out most of it, and made a hallway on the left side leading from the door back to the living space. The rest of the front, including the lift door and window, were closed off as a one and a half car garage.

I didn't have a car, so most of it was still empty. What I did have was a '42 Harley-Davidson WLA. It was vintage, although the only thing original to it was the frame. I'd had it rebuilt, and it was smooth and reliable, as long as there wasn't snow on the ground. I usually stuck to the trains during the colder months, but there wasn't time for that. Not when Sal could smell the arsonist at work, and we stood a shot at catching him.

It was cold enough for snow, but the sky was clear for a winter night, so I knew the bike would be the fastest way to get wherever I needed to go.

I zipped up my leather jacket and donned my helmet, before pulling the chain on the garage door. The mechanical opener I'd installed kept shorting out, so I'd fallen into the habit of manually opening the door. I wheeled out the bike, and then quickly closed up behind me.

As I kick-started the old machine, Sal trilled again, his little voice barely audible over the rumbling engine. His box jutted out from the left breast pocket of my jacket, and his yellow-orange head was swiveling back and forth. I didn't worry about him staying warm too much, as his little body generated more heat than a furnace. If anything, I only worried that he'd set fire to his box again.

Once I was idling, I tilted my head down to look at him. "Alright, where to?"

His little triangular head turned back and forth as he sniffed. His gill feathers, normally kept tight to his head and neck, were flapping excitedly. He took a moment to orient himself to what he was sensing, and then he gave two sharp barks. I nodded, and turned left onto the street.

We cut our way south, his barks directing where to turn. A few minutes later, we were south of the Loop, and making our way down toward the end of town where the fires had occurred. There were a number of warehouses in that area, although not many of them were abandoned like the last had been.

As we grew closer, Sal's barks grew more enthusiastic. He was practically hopping in his box, and worried once or twice that he'd bounce out. But he remained in place, and directed me to an alley between two storage warehouses.

The motorcycle idled beneath me as I glanced down the alley. There wasn't much space between the buildings, and there weren't any lights. The place should have been pitch black that late at night.

The amethyst light bobbing its way down the alley stood out like the north star.

"Right then," I said, reaching for my phone. I dialed a number as I let the engine stall out, and jumped off the bike.

"Emergency services," a voice responded.

"This is Woody Hayes, consulting arson investigator for C.F.D. I've tracked a suspect in the active arsonist case." I gave them the address, and told them who to contact.

"Thank you sir," she replied. "I must urge you to wait for responding units to arrive."

"Right," I said sarcastically. "Look, these warehouses aren't abandoned. There might be guards on duty or something. I'm going to go see if I can find them, or stop this guy from doing any more damage."

"Sir, you must—" she began, but I'd already hung up.

"Boring conversation anyway," I muttered to Sal. "Let's see if we can stop this guy.

The fire elemental trilled an enthusiastic response, so I set off down the alley.

The purple light I'd seen had been enough to illuminate a figure walking beside it, but they'd been too far away to identify. As I entered the alley, a thudding sound ended with a crash, and the light disappeared into a doorway to the left. I ran toward it, realizing the arsonist had just kicked his way in.

When I reached the door, I saw that my fears about the warehouse were confirmed. The open floor was full of pallets and storage shelves. The interior was dark, and there was no sign of anyone other than myself, Sal, and the arsonist holding the oddest looking torch I'd ever seen.

The thing wasn't modern by any stretch of the imagination. The man was standing about a dozen feet away. The purple flames atop the torch it a lilac hue, but my guess was that the thing was bone white. It looked to be about two feet in length, and was made of something that looked like marble. There was a flute and fillet pattern on the handle, with the shallow hollows running the full length. The bottom was capped with an ornate butte, and the top flowed out into a bowl shaped something like a Corinthian column.

There was no apparent accelerant or fuel for the lively flame atop it, and my eyes were immediately drawn to its flickering shades.

"Hey!" I called out, my attention more on the torch than the man. He turned, and I managed to tear my eyes away long enough to look him over.

His face was hued in periwinkle and mauve as he looked back. The torchlight did unsettling things to his face, but it was a man looking back at me, rather than some supernatural denizen of Undertown. He was remarkably plain looking, save his eyes, which glowed a brilliant heliotrope.

I could see that the man was dressed raggedly, his clothing hanging in tatters. He had some stubble along his jaw, but it wasn't enough to conceal the deep hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes. His gaunt form looked malnourished, and he seemed to waver on his feet.

"Fo̱tísei to drómo," the man said, his voice haunting. It had an odd echo to it, as if there were more than one voice trying to speak through him. His eyes were pointed my way, but remained unfocused.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," I replied as I crept toward him.

"Fo̱tísei to drómo," he repeated, his tone growing more desperate. As he spoke he raised the torch overhead. His eyes stared up at it as the light grew more violent. I started running toward him, but was a few feet away when he spoke a third time.

" _Fo̱tísei to Drómo!_ " he shouted, his voice echoing impossibly loud in the enclosed warehouse. It thundered, and I drew to a halt just before a swirling vortex of fire engulfed the man.

I pulled back, shielding my eyes, as a ferocious wall of fire grew between us. It was the maddening flame that I'd seen at the other warehouse fire, full of intent. It spun in a perfect circle around the man, scarring the stone floor with a sooty ring as it spun in place. The wall grew higher and higher, the flames flickering like a violent tornado.

I retreated from the sudden and unbearable heat, even as something called for me to come closer. It was as if the fire was summoning me. Telling me to walk into the flames, and let them purge me of the sins of life. Telling me to surrender to the light, and let it light my way to the eternal dark.

A sharp pain in my neck broke the spell, and I shuttered as I realized I'd been walking forward. Only Sal's bite had been enough to help break the trance the fire had put me in. Rather than letting myself get distracted by the flames again, I retreated, ignoring the compulsion to give in to the heat.

"Thanks buddy," I shouted to Sal, who had likely just saved my life before I even realized I was in danger. He chirped a reply, and it sounded as if he were unnerved. Which was odd, seeing as he was a creature of fire himself. Normally he was as enthralled with flames as I was.

But this fire wasn't natural. Beautiful, yes. Enchanting, undoubtedly. But there was a madness in its glow, a thing longing for something.

I glanced cautiously at the flames, and saw that the towering inferno had finally reached the rafters above. The ceiling lit in a flash, and I watched as the fire spread across steel girders as if they were made of wood. The sheet metal roof cracked like kindling, and plum cinders dropped onto the pallets and floor underneath.

In moments, the place was ablaze, as the fire spread quickly and surely through the room.

When I felt the air begin to heat my lungs, I knew it was time to go. There was nothing I could do against such power. I had no magic of my own, and none of my trinkets and tools were a match for this.

I retreated, running for the door we'd entered through. Stumbling into the alley, I barely preceded an explosion of amethyst fire that burst through the door. I fell in the alley, landing roughly as the windows burst around me.

Glass shards fell, and I raised a leather-clad arm to shield my face. Luckily I hadn't removed my helmet, and the glass clinked off the surface as it dropped around me. I started dragging myself down the alley, as the head high windows of the warehouse belched forth the unnatural flames. I scrambled on my belly, staying below the fires.

As I went, another burst behind me drew my head around. I looked back, and saw another fireball erupt from the doorway. It rippled and swirled in the air, before rolling up onto the bricks of the adjacent warehouse.

Wherever the flame touched, purple fire grew. I watched the walls catch, the mortar burning a brighter lilac than the mulberry flames of the bricks.

And in the midst of all that destruction, the arsonist strode through the doorway, surrounded in flame. It danced along his skin and clothing, but burned neither. Somehow, impossibly, he was immune to that which burned everything in its path.

Those glowing purple eyes fixed on me, before the man turned and headed the opposite way down the alley. I watched him retreat for a moment, in awe of the miraculous sight, before the warning trills from Sal spurred me back into motion.

I made it to the street just as the glass windows from the second warehouse burst, sending sharp projectiles down. I scurried to my feet and ran for my motorcycle, keeping an arm raised over my exposed neck. As I straddled it and kicked it to life, the engine was drowned out by the roar of the fire.

My rear tire squealed before finding purchase, and I shot off down the street as the walls erupted, the oxygen within expanding explosively under the power of the unnatural flames.

I didn't stop until I was a street away, where I could turn back and watch the horrific fire leave the buildings in ruins. The sound of approaching sirens could barely be heard over the livid flames raging in the night, and I hoped that the responders would be able to do something to stop the conflagration from spreading, from burning down everything in its path.

I hoped they could, because I had underestimated what I'd be facing, and had failed miserably.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Had I been smart, I would have called Robbins on his cell to report my findings. He'd warned me to do so, after all. But in my haste, I'd called an emergency number. I was on the record for being onsite before the fire started. And the first responders found me waiting, watching the flames engulf the warehouse complex.

Had I stopped to realize that I was in Crewe's precinct, I wouldn't have stuck around. But I was, and that's who flew into my face with rabid indignation when she arrived.

I'd repeat some of the things she'd said, but that wouldn't do anyone any good. Suffice it to say that she said enough to get me arrested, and I spent the night in jail, contemplating the reasons behind my attempted heroics.

It was Robbins who showed up early Friday morning with orders to release me. As they let me out of my cell, I found him considerably less irate with me than I expected.

"Get any sleep?" he asked as we left the precinct.

"A little," I confessed. "My cellmate sang me a pretty lullaby." I spared a glance up at him as he led me around to the lot where the police had stored my motorcycle. "So what's the verdict?"

Robbins nodded crisply. "Going off your statement, the police checked for security cameras in the area. There was one at the corner that caught the perp with the torch, and then saw you arrive a minute later. You're in the clear."

"Any word on identifying him?" I asked, deciding not to bug him about Crewe's efforts to get me arrested. It was just as much my fault as hers.

"Not yet," he said. "They're reviewing it, but that torch he was carrying cast some odd shadows. They're canvassing for any other cameras that might have seen his exit."

"I gave a description to the sketch artist last night," I informed him.

"They're running it through right now," As we passed through the security gate, he spared me a glance. "Any ideas on what we're dealing with?"

I shrugged rather than replying. He grunted at that, and nothing more was said until we reached my bike.

"Hayes," he said as I put on my helmet. He cast an unsure look around, somewhat uneasy with what he wanted to discuss. "This torch…" he finally said, trailing off.

"I'll handle it," I assured him. "I'm hoping I have enough now to find the guy. Between my resources and the police, we should be able to stop him."

Robbins nodded again. "And the reports?"

"The official record will be vanilla," I said, allaying his fears. "Just like all the others."

"Good," he said, a slight shutter reverberating through his body as he cast aside his thoughts on the supernatural. "Good."

"That's what you pay me for," I said with a wink.

"If you get anything else, give me a heads up," he said, giving me a stern look. "You're lucky those cameras caught the two of you arriving separately, or your story about patrolling the neighborhood for him wouldn't have held up."

"Hey, he's been keeping a steady pattern," I told the Deputy Chief Inspector. "Every three nights, in the same general area."

"So we should expect the same Saturday night?" he asked. I saw him hesitate, no doubt wondering if there were some mystical reasoning behind the arsonist's schedule.

But the reason the C.F.P.B. hired me was so that they could have two files on their odd cases. The first would contain the truth of things, and would never see the light of day. The second would contain the acceptable version, and would be the only report anyone ever heard of outside of those in the know.

I knew the cops had a whole Special Investigations division that handled their odd jobs. But the C.F.D. had no such thing, and needed someone to make the magical appear mundane. That's where I came in. I provided the buffer from those that know and those that don't want to know.

Robbins, despite having read all of my real reports, had no desire to know. So he left his question unasked.

"Just do what you can to stop him," he said as he stepped away from the motorcycle. "And go through me next time!"

"Sure thing boss," I said, before kicking the engine over. It started up like clockwork, and I waved as I rolled past him.

Once he was out of sight, I reached back and withdrew the snakewood box that had been stored in the bike's right-hand saddlebag. I slid it into the front of my jacket, and a tired chirp sounded from within.

"Sorry buddy," I told him. "We're heading home now."

An approving trill came as a response, and I revved the engine and sped toward home, where I was hoping I could finally get some answers.

* * *

When we got there, I quickly stowed the bike away and made my way to the kitchen.

The first thing was to get some food in me. I'd decline eating anything at the prison, and my stomach was rumbling by the time I'd finished making my breakfast.

Sal was already at the table, eating some burnt bacon. He liked it black enough to crumble, and I'd made him extra as compensation for leaving him outside all night. Between that and the cinnamon sticks, he was in heaven.

I felt bad for making him rough it, but there was little choice in the matter. The police had been confused enough about my odds and ends I carried with me, and would have questioned why I kept a pet in a box while I was investigating.

I'd stashed his box away, and he knew to stay hidden if anyone searched my bike. As no-one had come running into the cell-block to ask why I had a fire spitting salamander, I assumed he'd remained out of sight.

As we ate, I sketched out a rough approximation of what I'd seen. I wasn't an artist by any means, but I thought it was a passingly good imitation of the odd torch.

After breakfast was done, I freshened up before heading down into the subbasement. Sal was happily crunching on another cinnamon stick when I knocked on Q's door.

His eye appeared at the knothole, and then he opened the door. As I stepped in, he was already heading back to his workbench, where a new project was underway.

"Finish the coffin?" I asked as I closed the door.

"Finished and delivered," he confirmed. If I was familiar enough with the goblin's tone to recognize his moods, I'd say he sounded relieved.

"Is that another peephole?" I inquired as I looked at the new project. The small metal tube with the glass ends was familiar, as I had one in my own front door.

"These sell like hotcakes these days," he said, his voice wispy from exhaustion. He'd likely spent most of the night finishing the box, and was moving on to simpler items.

I peeked at the device, which would fit into any standard front door. When it was finished, it'd look like any old peephole, revealing what lay on the other side. But unlike regular peepholes, this one was magically crafted. I could still see faint etchings glowing in the metal, as Q imbibed it with the spells that would allow the home owner to see the true state of whomever came calling.

The spell worked similar to one of those on my glasses, in that it would reveal any glamors or illusions. My lenses had almost a dozen different spells thanks to Q, and they'd all come in handy once or twice. The spell on the peephole was simpler, and wouldn't show everything that the glasses did. But it was enough to let you know who came a-calling.

"Everyone still nervous about the stuff last fall?" I asked as I sat on a stool. Q was busy putting the finishing touches on the peephole, his rubber gloves allowing him to handle the iron composite.

"Magical vortex of death leaves an impression," the goblin said absently. "Those in the know are a little less believing of the tornado story."

A few months prior, a wicked storm had knocked out power to all of Chicago. The story was that tornado touched down on one of the local college campuses, and had left a mess in its wake. Even worse, it had happened on Halloween night, and people's imaginations had run wild. Reports of ghost sightings and rumors of a pack of phantasmal riders had run rampant.

The vanillas all chalked it up to nerves about the storm and the power outage. Some said that yard decorations for trick or treaters had been caught in wind gusts, making people believe that they were seeing inhuman things in the dark.

The rest of us knew the truth. Word had spread through the magical community about a showdown between dark mages and our resident Wizard. By all accounts, the home team had won, even if things had seemed bleak at the time.

Now, magical artisans like Q were making a fortune on all sorts of objects. Unlike some of the others flooding the market, Q's were all legitimate, and worked as described. I'd seem him making protection charms, revealing peepholes, ward amulets, and even a few personal defense items.

He was raking in more than enough to pay rent, if I'd asked it of him. But our arrangement was less professional and more friendly. He provided me with information and the occasional magical knickknack, and I made sure his home was left undisturbed. As he hadn't run me off like the previous tenants, it seemed to be a good arrangement for both of us.

"What did you find?" he asked as he finished the peephole. He blew on it, and the engraved charms glowed brilliantly before fading into nothing.

"He's using a torch," I told him as I held out the sketch. He took it, and I saw his eyes narrow as he studied it. "Although I'm not so sure he was really aware of what he was doing."

"Hmph," the goblin grunted. "You might be right."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. Few enough people ever said that to me, other than Robbins. And most of the credit for my work went to Sal.

"First time for everything," he said smartly, his snide grin looking more menacing with his lopsided visage and protruding tooth.

"So what is it?" I asked, ignoring his taunt. It was good to see him in a better mood than he had been in the day before. "The guy was speaking some language, but I'm not sure what it was." I was lucky I understood as much English as I did. I knew a smattering of Spanish, but only enough to ask for directions to the library. Anything else was Greek to me.

"Most likely Greek," Q said. I blinked at him, wondering if he had some psychic ability he'd never told me about.

"How do you figure?" I asked. "You didn't even hear him."

"Because I think I know what this is," he said, waving the paper at me. "It's a Lampad torch."

"A what?" I asked, unsure if I was supposed to know what that was.

"A Lampad," he repeated. He turned back to his workbench, where he pulled another store bought peephole from a box of the same. He began to pull it apart as he explained.

"The Lampads were nymphs." He paused, before adding, "Are, I suppose. They're associated with the underworld and Hecate."

"Um," I said, embarrassed to not recognize the name. "Is that a noun?" At his disapproving glare, I narrowed it down. "Person, place, or thing?"

"Goddess," he said darkly. "A powerful one from ancient times. She has equivalents in several old religions, and no-one can decide whether she was originally a witch that Ascended, or a goddess in her own right."

"And how is she tied up with this?" I asked, pointing to the discarded drawing on the table.

"She probably isn't," Q admitted. "No-one talks about what happened to her. Some say she died. Others say she's still around." His red eyes slowly swiveled back to me, and despite having known the goblin for over a year, his look gave me chills I'd felt the first time he'd held a knife to my throat. "Some say that she's changed into something else; something that mortals should not trifle with."

"Okay," I said slowly, figuring he was trying to scare me so that I'd understand the danger of the topic rather than fear him. "So what about the Lamps?"

"Lampads," he grumbled softly, turning away again. "If I recall, they were gifted to Hecate by Zeus. For payment of some service or another. The nymphs each had a torch. They'd accompany Hecate as her handmaidens, as she traveled both the world and the underworld. I think they also acted as shepherds to the dead."

"So how did some guy end up with one?" I asked. "I'm assuming these aren't just bought and sold on the Undertown market?"

"Definitely not," the goblin confirmed. "The torches are very powerful; only the Lampads can possess them. If a human even looks upon the light they cast, it can drive them mad. And if one were to _possess_ one…" Q shook his head. "Not good."

"Well, unless he's been roaming the country with this thing and no-one has reported on all the purple fires, he must have recently acquired it."

Q nodded. "It's possible that it was with the other things in the storage unit," he said.

"The what?" I asked, tired of being ignorant.

"Last fall, before the All Hallows storm," the goblin explained. "There was an old storage unit that hadn't been opened since your last Great War. Someone broke into it and stole the contents."

"Oh," I said, swallowing. "Were there things like this inside?"

"Some say so," Q said absently. "Much of it was mundane, but a few choice pieces made their way to the market." He glanced at the paper again. "That wasn't among the items sold, but a crate that likely could have held it was on the list of items."

"Wait, were you shopping?" I asked, surprised at his knowledge.

He shrugged again. "I pay attention to any magical artifacts being bought and sold."

"Okay," I said, wondering at what types of things he might be interested in. From what I'd seen, there wasn't much he couldn't make for himself. For a member of a purportedly deadly race of assassin ninjas, Qilluhrang was much too interested in crafting.

The one time I'd pointed that out, he'd pulled a knife from nowhere and stuck me with the pointy end. Proving he was just as capable of killing me as his goblin brethren, he'd returned to crafting a magical tea set.

I hadn't brought it up again.

"So how do I find it?" I asked him after stifling a yawn. At my question, his head snapped around. "And what do I do when I get it?"

"Nothing," he said sharply. "Did you not listen? A mortal such as yourself cannot touch the thing and hope to remain in control of oneself."

"Well, that's all good and fine, but someone has to stop this guy," I replied. "He escalated this time, hitting a much larger facility. The cops said there were security guards there, but they got out in time. Next time we might not be so fortunate."

"Leave it to the Wizard," Q replied. "This is the sort of thing his ilk are good for."

"He hasn't done anything yet," I told him. "And besides, word at the pub is that he's a Warden now. They've got him traipsing all over the place, dealing with that war or whatever."

"Well, then, someone will handle it," Q said stubbornly, a frown creasing his forehead. "You will be no better off with the torch than this arsonist."

I let out a tired sigh as I pondered the issue. "You said this was part of that storage unit?" I asked, reasoning it out.

" _Maybe_ ," he said, emphasizing the word with his doubt. "The case I saw had spell-work that would likely confine such a thing. And it was the right size."

"So we get the box," I said. "We get the torch, put it in the box. Problem solved."

"Fool," Q spat, growing frustrated. "Don't you see the two issues?"

"Um…" I said. "We don't have the box. And…"

"And how are you going to take it away from him? When you don't even know who he is?" he finished.

"When was the box sold?" I asked.

"Two months ago," he answered. He frowned. "Why?"

"Because this guy obviously got his hands on the Lamp's torch before the sale," I explained. "But he didn't start torching things until the last two months. So it didn't drive him to extremes until after he had it for a while."

"Hmm," the goblin pondered, slowly nodding his head. "If you could somehow manage to obtain it without being turned to charcoal, and you could place it in the box, then you might be safe."

"Right."

"Except," he said, ticking points off on razor-tipped fingers, "You still don't have the box, you don't know who has the torch, or how to take it from him."

"One problem at a time," I said, my restless night not doing my brain any favors. "Do you know who bought the box?"

"Yes," Q replied, a guarded look coming over him.

"Well, is there any chance we can get it?" I asked. "Borrow it, even?"

"Unlikely," the goblin said, his attention turning back toward his work. "Getting it might be more difficult than getting the torch."

"How so?" I inquired, as a sinking feeling settled into my gut. "Who bought it?"

"A being," he said, glancing over his shoulder. His red eyes were narrow as he spoke. "A warrior, who is employed by one of the most powerful active beings on the planet, and who is currently contracted to the most ruthless man in Chicago."

"Uh," I said, the sinking feeling deepening. "Do you mean…"

The goblin nodded.

"John Marcone."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

After we finished discussing the logistics, I left Q to his work. I headed upstairs, and rolled around restlessly in bed until I finally managed to drift off.

When I awoke later that afternoon, things hadn't magically resolved themselves.

I caught the report about the latest fire on the early evening news. It turned out that both warehouses were in use, and millions of dollars of property damage was being claimed. There was mention of the odd hue of the flames, but nothing that would illicit suspicion from the masses.

The official line the fire department took was that an arsonist was using an accelerant that gave the fires their unnatural coloring. That clashed with the initial reports that no accelerant had been found, but the reporters didn't pick up on it. Or maybe they thought the investigators had found some new evidence.

I noticed that they showed the sketch of the suspect, but didn't show the surveillance footage of him with the torch. No doubt they were worried that seeing him carrying it around like that would make people start asking questions they didn't want answered.

I checked in with Robbins, who gave me the news that the CPD had assigned their end of the case to their Special Investigations division. That rankled me, as it meant much of the case was now out of my hands. But if the rumors about that department were true, they'd be the best possible response to a magical situation. Probably better than me.

After having an early dinner, I headed back down into the basement. Not to Q's place in the subbasement, but my own little lab I'd set up.

The place wasn't much, but it functioned as my own in-house forensics lab. Any complicated tests would require sending the samples off for analysis. But as I was less concerned with solving a crime so much as duplicating it, I had everything I needed.

"Okay buddy," I said to Sal. "Let's make purple fire." My junior lab assistant trilled in anticipation, and barked out a small purple flame of his own.

The easiest part was making the fire turn purple, of course. All that took was some potassium chloride. With the right percentages and mixture, anyone could get that done. No, the problem wasn't just the color; it was sustaining the color. An accelerant with potassium chloride would burn out fairly quickly. Once it was gone, the remaining fire that grew from the building's innards would return to more normal hues. Combining strontium and copper to blend red and blue hues into a purple flame would work, but carrying quantities that could account for the fires already witnessed would be difficult.

As another experiment fizzled out, the grate in the floor popped open, and Q appeared from below.

"Any word?" I asked, my eyes still trained on the dying embers in the dish on the counter.

"I was able to confirm that this Gard woman purchased the box," he said as he approached. I saw that today's outfit consisted of board shorts and a Blackhawks t-shirt. Clearly he had no intent of going outside, which was an abysmally cold night.

"Is Marcone willing to part with it?" I asked, hoping that I wouldn't have to try and steal from the most ruthless criminal the city had ever seen. And that's saying something, considering Chicago's history.

"My contacts say that she didn't purchase it for Marcone," he replied, standing across the table from me. The amethyst hues of the dwindling flames did strange things to his ruby and wine colored eyes.

"So she got it for herself?" I wondered. "Could she know what it was?"

"Her ilk are not of the same line as the Lampads, but it would not surprise me if she knew of them." Q shrugged, and started making his way to the stairs leading up. "I will partake in your leftovers. Was that Lou's I smelled?"

"Yeah," I said, frowning at the now spent flames.

"Good," he replied as he made his way up. "Uno's is too greasy and runny for me."

"Right," I replied to his retreating form. I looked to Sal, who sat hunched on his tail. He was always excited to play with fire, and was eagerly awaiting the next effort. But unfortunately I disappointed him. "That's the answer."

The little guy cocked his head curiously. I just smiled at him and started putting things away.

* * *

Friday saw me heading around Chicagoland, buying up the supplies I'd need. It wasn't easy, since I had to make sure to buy low quantities in cash from places that didn't have surveillance cameras.

Thankfully, it was cold out, so no-one questioned my use of gloves. They probably just assumed I was trying to keep warm, rather than attempting to avoid leaving fingerprints on both the items I bought and the stores I frequented.

I returned home with the supplies, and completed a test run in the basement. It was only a small quantity, but it was enough to assure me that the mixture would allow for a sustained purple flame. Not as long as the magical fire had lasted, but long enough to ease the minds of those looking for non-mystical answers to their questions.

The hardest part was acquiring a van. Even with the most efficient use of materials, it'd still require more than a person could conveniently carry around town. I decided that would have to wait until later.

It was Friday afternoon when I returned home to find a note waiting for me. I headed down to the subbasement and knocked on Q's lab door. A few moments later, another door further down the tunnel opened, and the goblin stuck his head out.

"You're not working?" I asked as I turned and headed toward the space he considered his home. He was careful to keep a definitive line between living space and work space.

"Long week," he replied. He didn't invite me in, which he never did. So I stood in the dim hallway as he retrieved a note.

"A meeting has been set up with the Gard woman," Q said. He passed the note to me, which contained a time and a name. "Do not offer this woman anything. Not even your name."

"Where are we meeting?" I asked, noticing that there wasn't an address on the paper.

"At the pub," he replied. He frown and wagged a bony finger at me, the nearly translucent white and green skin stretched gauntly over it. "Offer her nothing."

"Alright," I said defensively. I wasn't a complete nube when it came to the magical community. "What is she, a Fae?"

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "I'm almost certain she's a Chooser."

"Okay," I said knowingly, rather than admitting that I didn't know what a Chooser was. That'd be practically admitting I was a complete nube when it came to the magical community. "She knows what this meeting is about?"

Q nodded. "From what I understand, she is sympathetic to your cause."

"Do you think she'll help?" I asked hopefully.

Q just shrugged, and closed the door. I sighed, and headed back upstairs, wondering just what a Chooser was, and what it would mean if I screwed up.

* * *

The meeting wasn't for another couple of hours, so I got busy with preparing the mixtures.

Grease was the perfect thing for what I needed. It would act as the primary fuel source, and would burn slow enough to sustain the purple flames for a longer time. It would also help explain why the fire hoses had taken so long to put the flames out; grease fires were notorious for growing worse when doused with water.

Sodium-free salt would provide the potassium chloride I needed for a violet flame. The alcohol in hand sanitizer provided a nice blue that, when combined with the red hued strontium nitrate in road flares, made a passable purple. Finding the right ratios was difficult, but in the end I was satisfied with the results. Most of the mixture went into red gas tanks I'd bought at a hardware store, while some went into large backpack style sprayers.

The rest went toward preparing fire-starter logs. I applied some directly to the logs, leaving the mixture to soak into them overnight. For others, I coated them in melted wax. Once the wax started to cool, I sprinkled in a dry mix of the assorted chemicals. Even after some of the other accelerants had burned out, the slower burning wax starters would only be getting started.

I wasn't finished by the time I had to leave for the meet, but I had made good progress. After making sure everything was secured safely, and Q knew not to mess with any of it, I headed out.

McAnally's is a pub downtown that caters to the magical community. While I'd first been exposed to magic in my hometown of Lake Providence years earlier, I hadn't really learned much until I moved to Chicago. I'd spent years on the fringes of the small society of practitioners, and knew a few personally.

I didn't mess with the Wizard, of course. I'd never even met the guy properly, but he'd caused enough trouble in my life without being directly involved. I figured the best thing I could do would be to keep away from him. That wasn't easy all the time, considering how much he visited Mac's. But when I went to meet Ms. Gard, he was nowhere to be seen.

The pub is a little odd compared to modern tastes. The place is recessed, and you have to head down a flight of steps to enter. Once inside, you were surrounded by an esoteric design that apparently did what it could to diminish lingering magical energies. As I didn't have a lick of talent, I couldn't say one way or the other. But others assured me it worked.

The small space had thirteen columns, each carved in reliefs of old world legends. There were thirteen tables spaced about the place, along with stools along the bar. Fans swung lazily overhead, seeming to be more useful at keeping the air moving than giving any cold comfort in the depths of a Chicago winter.

I went to the bar, where I found the bar owner busy working behind the counter.

"Hey Mac," I said as I sat down. He glanced at me, and nodded politely. I'm not sure if he recognized me or not. "Think I could get a dark?"

A few moments later the man had delivered a freshly cracked bottle, as warm in my hand as beer shouldn't be. But as the chill outside was biting, and my motorcycle offered little in the way of warmth, I was grateful for the warm heavenly liquid.

I paid him for the drink, and decided to wait and see if the woman I was meeting planned on eating or not. While I waited, I looked over some of the other patrons. As it was a Friday night around dinner time, there was a smattering of people present. No-one I recognized, so I remained at the bar.

Just as my watch struck the appointed time, the front door opened, and a woman made her way into the pub. My eyes widened when I saw her, as she wasn't what I was expecting.

Standing over six feet, she was taller than me. She had a lean body if her pantsuit revealed anything, but she carried herself with a confidence and poise that made me shiver. Her long blond hair hung loosely across her back, and her intense blue eyes fixated on me as she looked around the room.

I'd say she was beautiful, but not in the traditional sense. Sure, her features were lean and sharp and attractive, but her beauty was more like that of a sword glinting in sunlight. She looked like a well honed weapon, the smoother parts of her figure more like the graceful curves of a battle-axe rather than a pin-up doll.

As she approached the bar, I noted the box held under one arm. It was ornate, similar to what Q had been working on a few days earlier. But unlike his work, which was beautiful if somber, the box she carried felt like it carried some sort of menace.

Since I didn't usually pick up on vibes like that, I figured it must be putting off some really bad juju.

"It has worked for a long time to keep its contents from its rightful owner," the woman said as she stopped beside me. Her voice sound like steel rasping out of a leather sheath.

"Uh, right," I said as I stood, and held out a hand. I belatedly realized she was holding the box with her right, so she wasn't free to shake. But she smoothly shifted it around and took my hand in hers. Her fingers were strong and calloused.

"Mr. Hayes, I presume?" she asked, a golden eyebrow quirking up.

"That's me," I confirmed. Q had warned me about giving my name to people like this. Not everyone could use it against you, but enough could that it made a bit of caution more than appropriate. I returned the favor. "And you'd be Ms. Gard?"

"Correct," she said as she placed the box on the bar counter before sitting on a stool.

The bartender sidled over, and I saw his face frowning at the thing that was intruding on his space. "Hmgh," he mumbled, as if letting the box know he was displeased with it.

Without her ordering, Mac placed a bottle in front of the woman. She took it and tilted it toward him, toasting her appreciation. He nodded, and wandered away to someone else that needed his attention.

"So," I said, glancing at the box. "Do you know what this box contained?"

The woman glanced at me, her blue eyes weighing me. "I believe so."

"Well, if I'm right, the object is in someone's hands," I explained. "Someone that's in over their head."

"I had surmised as much," she admitted.

"I'm going to try and do something about that." At my words, she arched her eyebrow again. I couldn't be sure that it was amusement glinting in her eye, but it sure felt like it.

"And how are you going to do that?" she asked, her voice wry.

"Well, I was hoping to borrow your nifty little box there," I said, gesturing to said item. The dark wood, with its ornate and twisted carvings, seemed to push my eyes away. I was more than willing to abide by the compulsion.

"I see," she said, offering little insight into her opinion.

"I think it would be best for everyone involved if the torch were off the streets," I explained. "I'm not sure who one of your bosses is, but the other probably doesn't like chaos in his city."

"That is true," she said, offering a slight inclination of her head. "He does not like disruption to his plans, and the fires are beginning to be just that." Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me from the side. "But he is not invested enough to act directly. And my other… employer, shall we say, does not meddle lightly in matters such as this."

"You mean magical issues?" I asked.

"No," she said. "He is very interested in such things. But when it involves matters of individuals such as these, he moves with great caution."

"So neither is willing to help?" I asked, surprised and a little disappointed. "When lives might be at risk?"

"Lives are always at risk," she replied. And as she did, her eyes glinted something fierce, something primal, and I swallowed unconsciously.

"What about the box? Are you willing to lend it to me?"

"Would you return it with its contents in place?" she asked, curious.

"If I had to," I admitted. "I can't use the thing, and I don't know how to get a hold of the original owner."

"Hmm," the woman pondered. After a long pause, she added cautiously, "I may be able to help with that."

"You mean you can get it back to the handmaiden?" I asked.

"No," Gard said quickly. "But I will permit you to use the box to contain the item, and will facilitate a meeting between you and the owner, if I can."

I gave a heavy sigh, glad that things were falling into place. "Thank you," I told her.

She inclined her head. "In return, you will be in my debt."

"Um," I said stupidly, suddenly nervous. I knew better than to get too involved with people like her. "What sort of debt?"

"As you are asking for my help for a good deed, I will reserve the right to do the same," she said somewhat reassuringly, as if sensing my hesitance. "Nothing which you would not be willing to do of your own free will."

"Okay," I said slowly.

"But once the item has been returned, you will return the box to me," she added, her tone uncompromising.

"Sounds good," I confirmed. "I don't like the vibe it's giving off."

My words seemed to surprise her, but after a moment she pushed the box along the bar top until it was in front of me.

"I don't suppose you'd like to come help me retrieve it?" I asked, taking a sip of my beer.

"Oh, I might enjoy that," she said, the glint returning to her eyes. "But I am bound to the interests of my employers in this matter, and cannot overstep."

"Gotcha," I said, expecting as much.

Q had mentioned that there were delicate balances in the relationships between the different supernatural groups. Such restrictions made places like Mac's pub necessary. As Accorded Neutral Ground, people and things that might not normally get along could meet peacefully. But out in the real world, both seen and unseen, the struggles between authorities were carefully maintained.

It seemed I would be on my own. But I was already fortunate enough that she was willing to work with me. I was about to offer to buy the woman dinner in gratitude when my phone chimed.

"Excuse me," I said, embarrassed. Glancing at the phone number, I saw that it was Penny from the investigators office. "I have to take this."

"Of course," Ms. Gard replied, inclining her head.

I slipped off the barstool and made my way toward a quiet corner of the pub. "Hey, Pen. What's up?"

"Woody, are you home?" she asked quickly, a nervousness in her voice triggering alarm bells in my head.

"No, I'm out. Why?" I asked, my voice hushed but anxious.

"Robbins just heard that S.I. obtained a warrant to search your place," she said quickly. "Apparently Crewe has been pulling what strings she has, and the investigators are reviewing your involvement."

"I thought I was in the clear?" I asked hotly. The police had released me the day before with assurances that no charges would be brought. All the attention was shifting toward the perp in the video.

"Crew has convinced people that you're working together," Penny said. "That you staged the video to clear your name. And since the lantern thing the guy was carrying couldn't cause all that damage on its own, she's saying you guys prepped the buildings beforehand."

"That's absurd," I said. "I was busy investigating all da—" I continued, until something she'd said nearly stopped my heart. "Wait. Did you say they had a warrant? For my place?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "Robbins got wind from the people over at the Special Investigations group. Some of them are on their way to your place right now."

"Oh shit," I said, too loudly it seemed. A couple patrons looked my way, but I had no time to worry about them.

"Woody, what is it?" Penny asked.

"I've gotta go," I told her. She started saying something else, but I'd hung up before she could finish.

I scrambled back to the bar, where Gard sat waiting with the box. "Sorry, but I've got to run," I explained hastily. "There are things… well, I've gotta go."

The woman nodded as I hastily tossed some cash on the bar for her drink. I hesitated as I reached for the box, but a second nod indicated I could take it.

As my hands closed on the thing, a cold chill rippled up and down my spine. I shivered, but managed to heft the thing up onto one of my shoulders. It was heavier than it looked, and I wondered at the woman's easy strength that had carried it under one arm.

I ran for the door, making sure to steer clear of the fans. Then I was out the door and running to the parking lot, where I strapped the box over the rear wheel of my WLA. As soon as the helmet was on my head, I was off, speeding toward home.

Home, where the police were preparing to search for evidence that I was involved in starting the fires.

Home, where I had a stockpile of violet and lavender accelerant and fuels for just such a purpose.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

By the time I got to the old firehouse I called home, the police and investigators were already there.

A small blockade of cars had closed off West Illinois Street, and I saw people coming and going in my front door. Some gawkers had set up shop around the perimeter, and were filming with their cell phones.

I cut through the barriers on my bike, the cops shouting at me as I passed them by. I ignored their calls, and instead kept rolling until I reached the front of my building. Letting the motor stall out, I hopped off and made a bee-line for the door.

"Excuse me," a cop said, motioning for me to halt.

"I'm Woody Hayes," I said angrily. "This is my home."

The cop studied me for a moment, and then told me to stay put. He stepped inside the door as another kept his eyes on me. I heard the cop mutter into the handset looped through his shoulder strap, and an incoherent reply came back.

"Sir, you're going to need to wait here until the Detective Sergeant arrives," he said after returning a moment later.

"Like hell," I said, but when I started toward the door, the cops squared off in front of me.

Between the option of waiting or giving them cause to arrest me for assaulting a police officer, I chose the former. It was only a minute or two before the sergeant arrived, but it felt like an hour.

"Detective Sergeant Stallings," the man said, offering a hand. I ignored the civil gesture, and instead waved toward my house.

"What the hell is this about?" I practically shouted as panic crept into my voice. "What right do you guys have in searching my place?"

"Sir, you were named as a suspect in our ongoing investigation," the man said, his tone calm and emotionless. His stance was at ease, but I knew enough cops to know when one was ready for action if needed.

"I was cleared yesterday morning," I protested, but the man shook his head.

"There was enough to convince the judge to issue a search warrant," he stated. "We're just following up on all potential leads, to try and get to the bottom of this."

"What evidence?!" I shouted angrily. "I tried to stop the damn guy. This is just because Crewe is holding a grudge against me!"

"Sir, please understand," Stallings said, his voice firm. "We will execute the search order we have been given. If nothing comes of it, then you can request a review of the warrant request. But until then, we're just doing our jobs."

"Fuck that," I said bitterly. "At least let me wait inside," I added, as the cold nipped at my exposed parts.

Stallings shot a look over his shoulder. "I think that can be arranged." He nodded, and I started to follow him in, until I remembered the box.

"Hey, wait," I said, turning around. "I need to stow my bike inside."

Stalling stared at me for a moment, before speaking into his own handset. After a minute, he nodded, and gestured toward the garage door. "That's fine, the garage has already been searched."

I knew that placing the bike in the garage would allow them to search it, but at that point I didn't care. There was nothing incriminating on it, other than the creepy box. Sal was in his own box in my jacket pocket.

I quickly unlocked the garage and slid the bike in. Stallings and another officer stuck with me, and led me back into the living space.

We waited, me pacing the room while the others kept an eye on me. As time went on, I began to worry more and more. Investigators, people I knew from the fire department, were going up and down the stairs to the basement. A couple glanced my way, shooting me apologetic looks.

Finally, one came up as she snapped her latex gloves off. When she saw me, she headed my way, a grimace on her face.

"Sorry, Woody," Arson Investigator Frances Price said.

"What the hell, Frankie?" I asked, trying not to take my fear and frustration on her.

Frances Price was one of the on-staff arson investigators they had at the local firehouse. We'd crossed passed in a professional manner several times, and we'd always gotten along. Now she was searching my house for evidence that I was pyromaniac arsonist setting fires across the city.

She rubbed a hand through her hair, pushing a couple dark strands back into place. She'd had a bob cut the last time I'd seen her, but she was letting it grow out. The deep auburn tresses were just long enough to put into a very short ponytail, but a few had gotten loose.

Her brown eyes met mine, and she shrugged. "Had to do it. We all figured it was Crewe messing with you again, but you know how it is. Her comments, combined with the anonymous tip, were enough to make us at least look into it."

"Right," I said, my tone exasperated. How convenient that an anonymous tip backed up Crewe's suspicions.

The only surprising thing was Price's attitude. I wasn't sure why Price was acting so nonchalant. Unless they'd just started their search down below, they should have found the assorted paraphernalia by then.

"Have you found anything?" Stallings asked her, casting a blank look my way. Maybe hearing someone other than me casting the blame at Crewe's feet had made him reconsider.

"Not a thing," Price said with a shake of her head. "Some typical lab equipment, but nothing remotely illegal, and nothing that would tie him to the fires. We're still going over some of the rooms on the second and third floors, but the first and basement are clean."

I did my best to keep my surprise from registering. It must have worked, because none of them turned and pointed to laugh maniacally to say they'd caught me out.

"Alright," Stallings said, his voice suddenly weary. "We'll let you guys finish up."

"Thanks," Price said. She offered another apologetic nod toward me. "Sorry, Woody."

"Yeah, thanks," I said softly, dismissing it.

The investigator trailed off, while Stallings and I waited for them to finish. It left me plenty of time to wonder at just how lucky I was.

* * *

It took another hour to give the all-clear. After that, the police and investigators left, leaving me copies of the paperwork. I watched them go from my front door, the lock and dead bolt useless after they'd drilled their way in.

At least they hadn't breached the door. The thing was still intact, and it would be short work to replace what they'd broken. Until then, I propped a chair under the handle to keep it closed and went downstairs.

When I went to my lab, I found everything more or less where I'd left it. My equipment all remained, as did my supply tubs. They were out of order, and I knew I'd have to reorganize, but it could have been worse. They could have taken everything for testing.

There was no trace of the mixtures I made, nor any of the fire-starters. And more importantly, there was no trace of the metal grate that led down to the subbasement.

I walked over to the smooth spans of concrete floor where the grate usually resided. Based on appearance alone, there was no indication that there was anything there but a single slab of stone.

I knelt down over the space and rapped at the floor. It felt like concrete, although my knuckles tingled at the contact. "Q, you there?" I called out.

After a moment, the spell he'd woven dissipated, and I saw his red luminous eyes in the dark beneath the grate.

"I assume they've all left?" my roommate rasped out.

"Yup." I glanced beyond him into the dark, but couldn't see anything. He didn't have the lights on in the tunnel. "You get everything below before they came in?"

"Barely," he said, pushing the grate up so that he could come out. "I heard the sirens approaching, and they lingered outside. When I remembered your project, I assumed you wouldn't want anyone to see it."

"Too right," I said, and surprised the goblin with a man hug. He stiffened beneath me, and as I pulled back, I noted that a knife had appeared in one hand. But as he hadn't poked me with it, I figured he understood the gesture to be friendly, and not some elaborate attempt at finally killing him when he least expected it.

"Blech," he said, spitting once my show of gratitude was over. "Humans stink."

"Tell me about it," I agreed, my thoughts drifting to Crewe. "Listen, can we leave that stuff down there for now? At least until this all gets sorted."

"Fine," the goblin said with a roll of his carmine eyes. "It's stacked against the walls for now. It should stay dry."

"Great, thanks," I told him. "How about I order us some food."

"What are you thinking?" he asked, curious. It was hard to find ways to show my gratitude and friendship to the odd creature, so it usually revolved around buying him food stuffs.

"I was thinking Morton's?" At the name of the steak joint, his eyes lit up, like fiery embers in a stove.

"That would be… acceptable," he said, his slow grin looking menacing due to his sharp teeth and narrow eyes.

"I'll order," I told him, heading back toward the stairs. "And in the meantime, you can study the box."

"You have it?" he asked, somewhat surprised despite knowing my intent.

"Of course," I said nonchalantly. "She couldn't resist my charms."

The goblin snorted at that. "Do you get to keep it?"

"No," I confessed. "Borrow only. So take a look while you can."

The goblin nodded readily, and headed toward the front after I told him where it was. I headed back to the living space, where I ordered up a meal fit for my hero, who had likely managed to keep me out of prison with his fast thinking and faster ninja-like skills.

* * *

An hour and a half later, the three of us were watching _Groundhogs Day_ again.

I was enjoying my medium well steak. Q had already finished his rare with assorted sides, and Sal was munching happily on the bite-sized pieces I'd cut for him. He was careful to blacken the meat to inedible lumps before joyfully swallowing them down. Since his kind normally just ate ashes and charcoal, he preferred everything extra well done. He'd learned to savor the finer things in life, though, and no longer settled for the leavings of a fireplace or stove.

"Hah!" Q guffawed, pointing at the screen. "That look is so human! He _gets_ it!" He was pointing at Bill Murray again, and I figured I'd let the comment go.

My phone rang, so I slipped out of the room while Q rolled on the couch in unusual goblin mirth.

"Hey," I answered softly as I made my way to the front hallway.

"Everything okay?" Penny asked, her voice filled with worry.

"Yeah, sorry about leaving you hanging earlier," I said. "I appreciate the heads up."

"Sure," she replied, sounding unsure. "The way you reacted, I wasn't sure if I was helping a friend or aiding and abetting."

"Nothing to worry about," I lied.

"Well, that's good to hear," she said, although she still sounded doubtful. "Just wanted to follow up."

"I appreciate it, really." A sharp bark of laughter punctuated with the pop of a fiery burp turned my attention back to my roommates. "Listen, I've gotta finish tidying up around here. They left the place a mess."

"Need a hand?" Penny asked, some of her usual playfulness suddenly restored.

"Not tonight," I told her, although I was tempted. Having her over would be more than nice, but I didn't want to run Q off after he'd saved my hide. And besides, there was the whole work thing to figure out.

"Alright," she said, in a tone that might have been disappointed. Or perhaps I was just reading into things. "I suppose it's for the best. Robbins and I have got an early day tomorrow," she said.

"What's going on tomorrow?" I asked, my interest piqued. Tomorrow was only a couple hours away at that point, and it would be Saturday. She didn't work weekends.

"Oh, right," she said, and I could picture her slapping her forehead. "Forget to tell you with everything else going on. S.I. thinks they've identified the arsonist."

"What, already?" I asked, bewildered. They'd only been on the case for twenty-four hours or so.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "They found a match on a flagged profile for a local security company. The guy worked at a storage facility here in town."

"Storage, you say," I repeated, as things fell into place.

"Yup. They searched his house today and found scorch marks all over the place." Her voice grew cautious again as she added, "No sign of him yet, but word is that he was long gone. When they expanded their search, someone apparently tipped the cops that he might be staying with you."

"Which is how they got approval for the warrant," I growled.

"Yeah."

"So what's tomorrow?" I asked.

"Robbins and I are swinging by to liaison with S.I.," she explained. "He wanted you to come along, but didn't get approval. It's when he mentioned you attending that someone over there said a team was already in route to your place."

"Okay," I said, frustrated. "Well, should I meet with you guys afterward? To see what you found out?"

"Sorry, Woody," Penny said gently. "You're off the case. S.I. still considers you a suspect."

Even if Crewe hadn't gotten me arrested, she'd still won by getting me fired from the case. Officially, at any rate. Only Robbins could decide if my job was really done. "Alright," I said. "I guess I'll see you when I see you."

We said our goodbyes, and I rejoined the others, who had continued with the movie. They were at the part where Murray was smoothly stealing from the back of a security van.

"Heh," Q rasped out. "Humans are stupid."

"Tell me about it," I agreed.

I settled down to watch the movie, but my mind was on the mystery man. The cops were moving too fast. I'd need to find out what they knew so that I could get ahead of them, if I were to stand a chance of recovering the torch.

It was either that, or wait until the next hapless fool came across it and ended up going mad, and everything would start all over again. I considered looping S.I., and explaining about both the torch and the box. But I didn't know them, and I couldn't risk my career on strangers, even if they were supposedly clued in.

No, it was best to keep this in-house. Luckily, my in-house resources are more than most could dream of.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

I was waiting on the sidewalk outside of the Special Investigations building when Robbins and Penny arrived.

As I hadn't known exactly when their meeting would begin, I'd spent over two hours trying to look inconspicuous in front of the police station. That's not all that easy, given how many pairs of eyes came and went, studying everyone around them. I did my best to keep warm and look like I belonged.

The building was a huge block of stone architecture, the type that hadn't seen any renovations in a couple decades. The only thing remotely new was a patch job on an outer wall. I'd heard rumors about something rampaging through the department a few years earlier, and wondered just how much truth there had been in them.

When my so-called allies finally arrived, they didn't look pleased to see me.

"Hayes," D.C.I. Robbins said with unpleasant surprise. "What are you doing here?" Penny was shivering in her coat, but at least she managed a wane smile.

"I wanted to know if I'm off the case or not," I said bluntly.

The deputy chief inspector eyed me, and the envelope I was holding at my side. "What's that?"

"Am I still on the case?" I countered.

"You're officially off," the man said with a slight emphasis on the second word. "I'm fairly certain you're not involved, but with S.I. leading the manhunt, they're not willing to consult with one of their suspects."

"Fair enough," I replied, and handed him the envelope.

"What's this?" he asked as he unwound the string to look inside.

"My notes on the case," I told him honestly. "My observations on his schedule, and some ideas on how he might be doing it."

One of Robbins' eyebrows raised at the last, and I nodded slightly. Penny saw the exchange, and a curious frown appeared on her flushed face.

"I'll share it with the detectives," Robbins said. He gave me a brisk nod, and headed toward the building.

"What was that about?" Penny asked, lingering behind.

"What was what?" I said, going for innocent. It must not have been convincing, because her hazel eyes narrowed. She turned to walk away, and part of me really wanted to stop her. To explain about mine and Robbins' arrangement. But it wasn't the time. I was doing what I could to not implicate them in my activities, and telling her about things would do just that.

So I let her leave, and stood watching both of them until they were out of sight, feeling the cold air biting at my conscience.

* * *

As the two of them made their way through the police precinct, I settled onto a stool in the coffee shop across the street.

Not having a taste for the vile stuff myself, I sipped on a hot chocolate and waited. I found myself unconsciously huddling around my drink.

When the clock struck the hour, I figured it was about time for the meeting to start. I reluctantly put my drink aside and pulled out a wireless headset. It was an over-the-ear model that came standard with my cordless home phone dock. I never used the thing, and as Q and I had scrambled to think of something the night before, it finally found a purpose. The jutting mouthpiece portion had been removed, leaving only the ear clip and bud. I placed it on the counter within a copper wire loop that Q had prepared.

After a quick look around to make sure no-one was paying any attention, I touched the metal loop and spoke the command word. " _Lathrada_."

My understanding of magic is minimal, as is my ability. But Q is a master crafter when it comes to charms, amulets, and foci. It took nothing more than my insubstantial talent to activate the pre-designed spell. When the word left my lips, the hocus made with the pocus.

As it did, a connection was made between the ear-piece and the flat microphone wiring that I'd glued into place under the manila envelope's flap. Q had explained that the spell was simply reconnecting the two pieces that were formerly a cohesive whole, and allowing them to fulfill the function in which they were designed. The microphone picked up sound, and the ear-bud broadcast it to my ear.

A slight crackling sound confirmed we were up and running, and I quickly donned the ear-piece.

" _…_ _we know,_ " I heard a woman say. I couldn't help but smile, as I listened in to the conversation across the street and a couple stories up. There might have been easier ways, like having one of the others call my cell during the meeting, or report to me afterward. But that would incriminate them. And needless to say, that wouldn't be as cool as using magic.

" _He worked for All-Safe Security up until a month ago_ ," the more familiar voice of Detective Sergeant Stallings said as I slipped the copper loop back into my pocket. I heard the sound of papers shuffling, and wondered if they'd prepared printouts for everyone present, or if Robbins had shared my report with them.

" _Did he quit, or was he let go?_ " Robbins asked.

" _Fired_ ," Stallings replied. " _His behavior began to change over the last several months, and he_ _'_ _d been under an action plan at work. A month ago, he got into an altercation with a coworker, and that was the last straw._ "

" _How had his behavior changed?_ " Penny asked.

Stallings referenced some pages, as I heard more rustling. They were most likely the documents from the man's employer. I cursed myself for not tuning in earlier to catch his name. " _He was a pretty normal guy. But back in October, he started growing irritable and argumentative. A few times, his coworkers caught him talking to himself in a heated fashion._

" _Later, he started acting out. Punching walls, screaming at random times. He insisted on having the lights turned out, and was found in dark closets and bathrooms when he was supposed to be completing rounds._ "

More loud rustling sounded, and I worried that someone might be playing with the envelope. The wiring was subtle, but even if it was discovered, it shouldn't give anyone pause to think they were being spied upon. From the outside, it looked like a few wrinkles in the glue on the flap. Worst case scenario, they tore it open and found the harmless looking microphone without any sign of a power source that would make it work.

" _They put him on a self improvement plan, and tried to get him to see a therapist,_ _"_ _Stallings said. "But he refused. Things finally came to a head a month ago when he came across a couple coworkers smoking. They say that when he spotted them, he had a breakdown. He attacked, shouting something about putting out the fire._ "

" _What do you think caused the breakdown?_ " one of the other cops asked.

" _There were a lot of people going through things last October_ ," another said.

" _True, but their notes say Pierce started changing before Halloween,_ " Stalling informed everyone.

 _Pierce_ , I thought to myself. Probably a last name, but maybe a first _._ I needed one more piece of the puzzle.

As I sat there sipping my hot chocolate, I felt a rustling in my pocket. I glanced down, and saw that Sal had climbed out of his box. "What are you doing?" I whispered at him, while glancing around to make sure no-one else was paying any attention.

The little guy had his snout in the air and was sniffing. It wasn't as urgent as it had been when he'd detected the torch flame in the city, so I wasn't too worried. But before I could do anything to keep him safely tucked away, he slithered out of my pocket and shot toward the floor.

"Wait!" I whispered urgently, but another patron in a booth turned my way, so I ended up pretending that I'd turned to tie my shoe. Thankfully she didn't seem to notice the yellow and orange salamander skittering across the coffee shop's floor.

" _So no history of arson, then?_ " another cop asked in my ear.

" _None_ ," Stallings said. " _There was plenty of fire damage to his house, though, when we ran through it. But it looked like no-one had been there in weeks. If he_ _'_ _s snapped, he might have gone to ground._ "

 _Or underground_ , I thought. If the torch were driving him mad, like Q and I had speculated, then he could be hiding anywhere. And there were plenty of places in Undertown that he could hole up. But I couldn't imagine how a vanilla security guard would have survived amongst the things in Undertown for that long.

" _So how is he doing it?_ " one of the officers finally asked.

Robbins cleared his throat before answering. " _That has yet to be determined. There_ _'_ _s been no residue left from whatever he's using. We have some working theories, but we likely won't know for sure until we catch him._ "

One cop snorted, while another said under his breath, " _Maybe we should call the Wizard_. _Isn_ _'_ _t starting fires his forte?_ "

He said it softly, and the only reason I heard it was because he seemed to be sitting next to the envelope.

" _That_ _'_ _s not an option right now_ ," said the feminine voice I'd first heard. Her tone was crisp, and seemed to imply she was in charge.

But the suggestion and reply confirmed some of what I'd heard. Plenty of people said that the Wizard consulted with S.I. on occasion, but it was hard to believe. I suppose not everyone was willing to ignore things that stared them in the face. The woman's lack of scorn or outright refusal of using such a resource told me a lot.

" _But do we really think this Myron character is doing something_ _…_ _hanky?_ " a cop asked.

Myron. Myron Pierce. Or maybe Pierce Myron. I quickly pulled out my smart-phone and started searching for the name.

" _Hanky?_ " Penny asked, sounding confused. I could imagine the look on her face. She wasn't clued about magic, and talk of the Wizard was likely making her question the cops' sanity.

" _Never mind that,_ " the woman said, a warning tone in her voice no doubt accompanying a glare at the cop. " _Our primary concern is locating Mr. Pierce. We_ _'_ _ll leave the rest to the lab folks._ "

I found Mr. Myron Pierce in my White Pages app just as she said his name. There was only the one in Chicago, and I whispered a silent thank you to whoever was looking out for me.

" _I_ _'_ _d like to request once more that we bring in Mr. Hayes_ ," Robbins said, and my heart warmed a little. " _He_ _'_ _s been on top of this since the third fire._ "

" _A little too close to this, actually_ ," another said. I didn't recognize the man's voice, but I didn't like his tone. " _Seeing as he_ _'_ _s still a suspect and all._ "

" _I_ _'_ _ve given you my assurances, Spencer_ ," Robbins said, his tone somewhat cool.

Ah. That explained it. Elliot Spencer was the chief investigator out of Crewe's house. I'd only met the man a couple times, and things hadn't gone well. Crewe had clearly turned him against me. Cases that typically needed explaining, the likes only I could provide, were usually handled by Spencer. And he was piss pore at dropping the super from supernatural.

" _We_ _'_ _ll refrain from bringing him in for the time being,_ " the woman said, cutting the two off before they got into an argument. " _For now, he_ _'_ _s out of the loop._ "

The others grumbled their agreement, and the meeting resumed. I didn't bother listening any further, as I had what I needed.

" _Quildë_ ," I whispered as I slipped the headset from my ear.

There was an inaudible pop, something like a soap bubble bursting. The headset fell silent, and I slipped it back into my pocket.

"Sal," I whispered beneath my breath. I looked around, but couldn't see where he'd run off to. I muttered to myself, but didn't dare leave him behind. He tended to get upset about that.

A minute or two later, and after more than a couple people gave me odd looks for my urgent whispers, my eye caught the flash of yellow and orange as it darted across the floor. I waited, watching to see if anyone noticed as the little guy shot across the counter and into his box.

I pulled my coat open enough to look at him as he poked his head out, and saw his contented smile.

"What was that about?" I asked. He cocked his head, and then burped a little too loudly. The smell of coffee beans washed over me, and I turned my head in disgust. "Ugh, gross. Traitor," I declared him. But the little beast seemed nonplussed, and enjoyed his stealthy snack.

Once he was in place, I tossed my empty cup, and headed for the door. I'm sure the meeting would have more useful information about the suspect, but I was running short on time. Beside, if I waited to act, it'd be more incriminating for Robbins and Penny. Best to move while they were occupied, so that blame couldn't be cast on them.

Within a few minutes, my bike roared as I pulled out into traffic, heading toward the address I'd found for one Myron Pierce.

* * *

The man at the center of the police investigation lived southwest of the city, not that far from where the first couple of fires had occurred. He lived in a townhome, a narrow two-story place stuffed in between rows of identical housing. How anyone could live with neighbors on either side was beyond me. That was part of why I'd spent so much on the firehouse. I didn't have to share walls with anyone.

I let my bike idle a block away, and looked at the cars on the street. It took me all of ten seconds to identify the cops keeping an eye on the place. The warm air coming out of the van's exhaust was a dead giveaway. Maybe it could have been a contractor waiting for a home owner on a Saturday morning, but that seemed unlikely.

"Okay, buddy," I whispered, and pulled a bag from my jacket pocket. Sal quickly scurried out from his box and crawled down my arm. He was waiting when I pulled the brand new sock from its fresh packaging.

Using my gloves, I rolled one of the socks into a tight ball. When it was ready, the salamander stepped forward, and the air swirled as he grew.

I wish I was a little more sensitive to magical energies, so that I could get a feel for what the little guy did when he added more body mass out of nowhere. Q had explained that it had something to do with ectoplasm, but I wasn't sure if he was kidding or not. We'd just watched _Ghostbusters_ , after all.

However they do it, salamanders and other supernatural creatures have the ability to shrink and grow to a certain degree. Some can shape-shift, while others only give the illusion of a different form, like Q could.

As I watched, Sal grew enough so that he could easily hold the balled up sock in his jaw. He was only twice the size of a regular salamander, and much smaller than many other lizards. He could grow even bigger, but it would be both unnecessary and counterproductive to his mission.

When he had a good grip on the brand new sock, he scrambled down my leg to the street. Then, like a shot, he was darting across the road. My heart lurched as he went, but he was faster than anything natural on four legs, and there wasn't much traffic. His coloring had toned down to an earthy clay orange, so his progress went unnoticed by anyone that might be watching.

I kept an eye out, and saw when he reached Pierce's front door. He hesitated only for a moment as he stuffed the sock through the mail slot, and then he followed it in.

As I waited, I recalled the first time I'd sent Sal into someone else's home. I'd been pretty young, and hadn't understood about guest protocols. Only years later, when I met Q, did I learn about the rules and regulations surrounding the uninvited entrance into someone's home.

Mortals have an innate power to them. Plenty of people speculate on where faith ends and magic begins, but the bottom line is that when a mortal lives in a place, makes their home in a place, they end up creating a threshold. Most will never sense it, or even know of its existence. Only those with some modicum of talent will feel a tingle as they cross over a threshold, and most won't think of it as anything more than a cold chill.

I never felt anything when I passed through a threshold. But Q had taught me about them, and how they affect the supernatural beings of the world.

Some things can't pass through a threshold at all; things like the worst of the vampires lose touch with something that keeps them animated, and they'll supposedly break down into a puddle. Others are weakened when they pass through uninvited, while still more are barely affected.

Sal fell somewhere in between. He could pass through thresholds uninvited, but he didn't have the same abilities as he usually would. And entering someone else's property meant he was bound by the Guest Laws.

That's not what they're called, but that's how I think of them. A supernatural entity crossing a threshold can often do so as long as they abide by the rules. Namely, they can't do the home owner harm, they have to aide them to a certain extent if they require it, and no ill will can be invoked upon the host, even if they're not present.

The last was what made our trip both tricky and valuable.

For example, if I wanted to send Sal into Myron Pierce's home to acquire something that would help us track him, Guest Laws would probably prevent that. Stealing is considered a no-no.

But, if a wiley salamander were to take a dirty old sock from the property under the premise that it would be cleaned, and therefore beneficial to the owner, it'd be more acceptable. Even more so if said sock were replaced with a loaner, so the owner wasn't inconvenienced.

There's more to it than that, but equal exchange and benefit to the host was what allowed Sal to scramble back out of the mail slot a couple minutes later, dirty sock in mouth.

I looked around to make sure the way was clear for him, and then pulled a zip lock bag from another pocket. When he reached me, I took the sock from him and placed it in the bag. I was careful not to touch it, to avoid leaving any trace of my own DNA or scent on it.

When the sock was secured in my pocket, and Sal was back to a normal size and snug in his box, I kicked the stand up on the bike and started off down the street. I noted the cops in the van watching me go, and I shot them a smile and a wave before leaving them behind.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

A few minutes later we were home, and I dismounted the bike long enough to unlock the garage door and got it headed in the right direction. As the door rose, I returned to the motorcycle, preparing to wheel it in. But as I turned back, my eyes alighted on something inside.

A rusty old white panel van, not dissimilar to the one I'd seen outside of Pierce's place, was parked in my small garage.

I pushed the bike in, and hastily jumped to grab at the handle on the door. It clanged down with a thud, and I quickly locked it. Only then did I take a breath to slow my suddenly rapid pulse. Once I'd calmed somewhat and stored the WLA, I headed into the house.

"Q!" I called out when I didn't find him in the living space. Sal scrambled out of his box and perched on my shoulder, awaiting his reward. I quickly drew my cigarette box out and handed him a cinnamon stick, which he started nomming on with glee.

"Q!" I shouted again, and the goblin appeared at the stairs leading up from the basement.

"You get it?" he asked, and I drew the zip-locked sock from my pocket. He caught it when I tossed it to him, and then popped the zip open. His face screwed up in disgust after taking a sniff, and quickly resealed the bag. "Ugh. Humans."

"I thought we were going to wait to get the van?" I asked him, wishing I'd allow myself to smoke inside to help calm my nerves. Instead, I drew another cinnamon stick out and started chomping on it. Sal made a dismayed trill when he saw that, and leapt from my shoulder to the counter, all to keep his own treat safe.

"Figured it'd be better to go ahead and get it," he replied with a lopsided shrug. "Nobody is watching your place."

"Right now," I added as I slowed down on the stick. As nervous as I was, I'd broken off several pieces, and ground those down as I pointed at Q with the rest. "But what if they put watchers on me later? How are we going to get it out?"

"Why would they do that?" he said as he entered the kitchen and started rummaging around.

"Because they've got watchers at the suspect's house, and they saw me when I cruised by."

Q looked around at that, his red eyes widening a little. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, if need be, I'll distract them," he rasped out, resuming his search. He decided on combining some leftover meatloaf and Kung Po Chicken.

"You can't hurt them," I said pointlessly. Pointless, because he'd either do it or he wouldn't; my saying anything wouldn't make a lick of difference.

As I worried, he grunted a non-verbal response while piling the food on a microwavable plate. I sighed, knowing that anything more would simply annoy the goblin.

"Okay," I said, returning the curled bark to my mouth. "You make any headway?"

"Yes," he said as he watched the plate spin in the microwave. "There's an area south of downtown that has been vacated the last couple of weeks. Everyone in Undertown is avoiding it."

"So that's probably it then," I said, impressed by his quick work. I'd only called to tell him about my theory when I'd left the precinct. It seemed the supernatural grape vine was working overtime. Or maybe they're always that fast. "Anywhere we can stage?"

"I know a place," the goblin said as the microwave started to beep. He stuck a sharp-nailed finger in the food, and then closed the door again to heat it some more.

"Alright," I said as I gnawed on the bark. "Alright."

"Relax, Woody," the goblin said with his crooked grin, and he actually had the nerve to roll his eyes at me. "Everything is going according to plan. I've already scrubbed the equipment for fingerprints and loaded it all in the van. It's gassed and ready to go. We know where he's likely holed up, and I'll track him from there." He removed the plate from the microwave when it chimed, and gave a satisfied nod. "There's nothing to worry about."

And _that_ _'_ _s_ when the cops rang the front fucking bell.

* * *

The three of us stared toward the front hallway.

"Police," Q said after sniffing the air. "I can smell gun oil."

About a minute later, the doorbell rang a second time, the electronic chimes from the plug-in unit sounding like hell's bells ringing my doom.

"Is the van locked up?" I whispered to the room.

"Yes," Q said softly, his own carmine eyes not moving from the hallway. He'd been kind enough to install a new lock and knob after the police broke the previous one. If they tried for a repeat performance, I wasn't sure if he'd bolt for the basement stairs, or go rip the cops apart for undoing his efforts. As a being of faerie, he _really_ didn't like that the cops could just bust in whenever they wanted. Violation of Guest Law rankled him.

"What about the stuff in it?" I asked. Sal spared me a glance over his little salamander shoulder, the act cute enough for a million likes on the internet, but somehow chilling in those circumstances. He too seemed to recognize the danger we were now in.

"The back windows are tinted," Q reminded me. "They can see in the front, but everything's covered under a tarp."

"License plates?" I asked as a third chime sounded.

"Swapped with others," he replied. He finally shot a narrow glance at me. "I know how to thieve, Woody."

"Right," I said. I gave it a moment, and then nodded. "Well, if they were coming through, they would have done it already."

"There's typically more pounding than bell ringing when they're breaking in," Q agreed.

"Then we're fine," I said with infinite bravado. "You head down, and I'll see what they want."

Q nodded and turned with a forced eased. As he headed toward the stairs leading to his underground lair, I took Sal's box out of my coat pocket and placed it on the counter.

"Best stay out of sight, buddy," I told him as I shrugged off the coat.

The salamander hesitated, but eventually took shelter in the snakewood box. I headed for the hallway, and tossed my coat on one of the pins on the wall. After making sure the door to the garage was shut, I peeked out the peephole to see what we were dealing with.

The two people standing outside looked human enough. One was Stallings. The second was a short blond woman I didn't recognize. Her head barely reached the peephole. As Q's magically enhanced spyglass didn't reveal horns or tentacles waving up from beneath her short haircut, I figured she was just on the short end of normal.

Taking a breath, I unlocked the door and opened it wide, as if I had nothing to hide.

"What is it now?" I asked, my tone barely east of belligerent. I scowled at the Detective Sergeant. "Didn't have enough fun last night?"

If he was taken aback by my attitude, Stallings certainly didn't let it show. "Mr. Hayes, the Lieutenant and I were hoping to have a word." He nodded at the short woman, who's piercing blue eyes were studying me like a hammer studies a nail.

"About what?" I asked, keeping up my indignant tone. "You guys already cost me a paying gig, _and_ I had to buy a replacement doorknob." I jiggled said nob for emphasis.

"We apologize for the inconvenience," the woman said, her tone anything but genuine. Her eyes drifted off of me and down the hallway. "I wanted to follow up, to make sure there were no hard feelings."

"Right, of course," I said, mimicking her tone. "Maybe I'll see how my lawyer feels after she's had a chance to review the warrant."

Her eyes narrowed slightly at that, and I wondered if she'd heard about my previous lawsuit against the city. Knowing that I'd already won just such a suit, most officials would be tripping over themselves to make sure I wasn't going to try and hit them up again.

But the Lieutenant wasn't phased in the slightest.

"Hopefully it won't come to that," she said, her cold eyes training on mine. "A more thorough review always tends to turn something up, one way or the other."

I wasn't sure if she was implying that they'd revisit the case if I remained difficult, or if she was threatening to plant whatever evidence was necessary to excuse the search. I'd dealt with cops of both ilk before. And whether she was one of the just or one of the corrupt, it didn't matter. I couldn't afford either.

"Is there anything else?" I asked, keeping my tone cool.

"No, I think that's all," she said, and began to turn away. I started to close the door, but she stopped and turned back. "Wait, I did think of one thing."

She pulled a hand from one of her coat pockets, and I saw that she was holding an evidence bag. Inside was a short strand of wire connected to the small microphone from a headset.

"Any idea what this is?" she asked, her voice deceptively light.

I leaned in to look at the baggie up close. "An electrical component of some sort?" I asked vaguely.

"It's a microphone," she explained. A blond eyebrow quirked upward. "Any idea how it made its way into the envelope which you handed Deputy Chief Inspector Robbins today?"

"A microphone?" I asked, sounding doubtful as I frowned at her. "Isn't that a little small to be a microphone?"

"No, actually," she said, feigning her own surprise. "Actually, when we found it, we wondered where it might have come from. One of our officers speculated that it might come from a headset." At her words, Stallings pulled a Polaroid from one of his pockets. He held it out for me to look at as the woman continued. "Maybe one like this."

I glanced at the photo, and saw that it was a shot from inside my house. When they'd investigated the night before, someone had taken a photo of my kitchen. Barely visible was my god-damned cordless phone station. The headset was sitting in its mount.

Fuck fuck fuck.

"That's weird," I said, hoping I didn't sound as shocked as I felt. "So what was it doing in the envelope?" I asked, turning back to the Lieutenant.

"Excellent question," she replied. "It didn't have a power supply, so it's not like it was doing anyone any good."

"Sounds harmless enough," I said with a shrug. "I re-use envelopes, so maybe someone else was having a spot of fun."

"Maybe," she said. She stared at me for a moment, the cold air not seeming to bother her as she tried to gauge my reaction. "You don't know anyone that would want to spy on you, do you?"

"I thought you said it didn't have a power source?" I asked, letting doubt creep into my tone. "Unless this is some lame attempt at drumming up more excuses to investigate me."

"Oh, no," the short blond woman said with a slight shake of her head. "There's no way it could have been used for anything. Not unless you believe in _magic_ or something," she added, inclining her head as she said it.

"C'mon, really?" I said, surprised myself that my voice didn't crack. "Magic? Is that the best you can drum up?"

"I've seen a strange thing or two in my day," she replied with a slight shrug. "I've learned not to be too dismissive."

"Well, I'd love to keep chatting about such a _fascinating_ subject," I said, giving the two of them a long suffered look. "But I've got to be going. I have a meeting with my coven tonight that I simply _cannot_ miss."

"Of course," she said, sounding reasonable. "We don't want to keep you. But let me give you my number, in case you think of something you want to contribute to the case." She patted her pockets, as if searching for something. After a moment, her eyes widened. "Oops, I guess I left all of my cards at the station."

"Too bad," I replied as I stepped back into the door.

"How about I just program it into your phone?" she asked, tilting her head inquiringly. "That way you have it if you need it."

Ah ha. Heh. Heh.

Whoever she was, she was in the know. At least, she knew enough that mortal practitioners didn't get along with modern technology. There was something about using magic that made tech short out, and the more powerful you were, the worse it was. Low level talents could get away with some devices, but mobile phones were one of the most sensitive pieces of equipment out there. Anyone with any significant ability would struggle to keep one in good working order, and could certainly never use the latest and greatest.

Fortunately, I have no such talent.

"Sure, whatever," I said, rolling my eyes as I pulled my smart-phone out. I swiped the lock code in and pulled up the dialer for her, before handing it over. I glanced at Stallings, who had pocketed the picture at some point, and remained stoically quiet.

The woman hesitated only a second before she took the phone. I noted as she did that her other arm was sporting a cast. It wasn't easily visible under her coat, but I spotted it when she fumbled with my phone.

As she took it, her eyes had tightened only slightly, giving the only outward sign of her surprise. She diligently punched a number in and followed it with a name. Once she was done, she hit send, and a moment later her own phone rang. Shooting me a half smile, she ended the call and handed it back to me. "Just so I have yours."

"Sure," I told her as I took my phone back and slid it into my pocket. I'm sure it didn't hurt to make sure the thing was actually working, either. "And who knows?" I added. "After this is all over, if you want to go out for a drink, give me a call."

The change in attitude didn't phase her, but it made Stallings blink. I winked at him, and closed the door on their faces.

After locking the door, I pulled my phone back out and checked the call history. Sure enough, there was her information.

 _Karrin Murphy_.

I smiled a nervous smile as I made my way back down the hall, where I planned on breaking my rule and smoking half a pack before my nerves caused my eye to start twitching maniacally.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

When night fell, our team prepared to head out to do battle with the forces of darkness.

Well. Maybe we weren't the best choice to stop the fiery force of darkness that threatened to burn the city down. One of us was a force of darkness. Another was a mythical creature of flame capable of incredible destruction. And the last was a recovering pyromaniac.

But no-one else was volunteering.

"We're clear," Q said as he entered the garage.

After our unexpected visit from the all-too-observant Special Investigations department, we'd worried about the cops putting someone out to watch us. Q had been tasked with scouting, to make sure no-one was waiting in the dark. The last thing I needed was the police linking anything back to me.

"Okay," I said, reassured that he would have found someone if they were there to be found. Passing the Lieutenant's little test earlier must have put some doubt into her mind about the accusations toward me. That, or getting approval for a stake-out of a twice-cleared suspect was as it sounded. "I'll meet you at the rendezvous, and we'll go from there," I told Q as I pulled on my leather jacket.

The goblin nodded and slipped into his pilfered van. As I opened the garage door, he started backing out. In seconds, he was heading down the street, and I was left with rolling my bike out and locking up.

An excited trill sounded from my jacket, and I smiled as I gunned the engine. Before leaving, I twisted around to make one last check of the straps holding the magical box in place over the rear wheel. And then we were off, taking an alternate route through the city.

It took about thirty minutes to get to the rendezvous point. I could have arrived there a lot faster, but we wanted to make sure that traffic cameras had a hard time tracking my journey. I doubted the police would bother, assuming everything went as planned. But it didn't hurt to be cautious; especially when S.I. had already proven themselves more than capable of seeing through my amateur attempts at subterfuge.

When I arrived at the remote parking area south of the Loop, I found Q waiting with the van. It was parked in the shadows of the El. As I looked, I realized that there might be too many shadows draping over the area, and wondered how Q had managed that. Other than a glamour that made him pass for human, he didn't tend to use much in the way of raw magic. Magical artifice was his trade, but I couldn't imagine what he'd cooked up that would cast shadows like that.

He motioned me over, and I parked my bike beside the van.

"No-one should mess with these while we're gone," he advised as I kicked the stand down.

"I hope not," I said as I retrieved the box from the back. Touching the thing still made my skin crawl, even through my leather bike jacket and gloves.

I was sporting an extending shock baton, the brass knuckles Q had cooked up for me, and a backup knife just in case. The knucks were illegal, but if we were caught, they'd be the least of my worries. My leather jacket and motorcycle pants had been modified by Q, and he assured me that they'd offer more than the standard protections. My trusty half helmet would do what it could to protect my noggin.

As for Q, he had his glamour up, and looked like a fairly normal guy. His glamored features still weren't symmetrical, but his eyes were a more mundane brown, as was his hair. His skin was still pale, but most of that was clad in his own biker leathers.

A pair of curving blades crisscrossed the small of his back, and there were several smaller knives here and there on his person. He would be my primary offensive weapon. As crafty and creative as he was, he was still a natural born killing machine.

We made our way out of the dark, casting furtive glances around us to make sure we weren't observed. I spared another glance back, but found that the shadows had grown since I'd first arrived. Neither the van nor the bike were visible.

Q made a bee-line toward a storm drain. As we crouched down in the metal tube, he was careful not to touch any of the exposed steel. I handled the metal grate that swung open, and we headed into darkness.

My hand touched on the bridge of my glasses as we descended. " _Calya_ ," I whispered, and at the touch and command, another spell on the glass ignited. The depths of Undertown brightened to the point that I could easily see that which was around me. I glanced at Q, and saw that he'd dropped his glamour. His red eyes almost glowed in the dark, and I figured he had no trouble seeing.

When we'd descended into the area Q had heard was recently abandoned, I unzipped my jacket enough to allow Sal room to stick his head out.

"You smell the fire?" I asked the little guy.

Sal sniffed, turning back and forth. He looked around in the dark, but eventually gave a negative bark. Q gave a disappointed grunt, and pulled the zip-lock out that contained the dirty sock.

"Sorry," I said with a shrug.

The goblin took a good sniff of the garment, his face twisting in disgust again. Once he had the scent, he sealed up the bag, and then started training his attention down the different paths that lay before us.

"Catching anything?" I asked after a minute went by.

"Shut up," he replied, his voice a muted growl. I obeyed, and after another minute the goblin set off into the dark. I trailed behind.

Using whatever senses, physical or magical or both, Q led us back and forth in the abandoned tunnels. More than once, our journey led us through raw sewage, and I cursed softly when I stepped on something that writhed beneath my boot. I watched it scamper off, and tried to ignore the fact that it seemed to have more tails than it should.

Ten minutes passed as we weaved our way through Undertown. Other than what may or may not have been Cthulhu's pet rat, we came across nothing. I kept quiet, though, since there were plenty of things that lurked in Undertown that wouldn't announce their arrival until they were right on top of you.

A trill broke the silence, and Q and I both froze as we looked toward Sal. The little guy was sniffing at the air.

"The fire?" I whispered. The salamander gave an affirmative chirp, and Q silently drew his curved blades. "Where?" I asked as I took out the baton, leaving it collapsed for the moment.

Sal scampered out of his box, and I zipped my coat back up as he made his way to the tunnel floor. We weren't in the sewer anymore; the walls were an old brick, and the place was dry. I had no problem tracking his movement with my glasses, as his red-hot form stood out.

We hurried along as he led us toward the flame. Since he could smell the unique fire from across town, but had only just picked up the scent, it meant that the thing had just sparked up. I worried that we were too late, and that Pierce would be on his way up toward the city.

Our pace doubled as Sal shot forward. After a minute, we were in an all-out run. Q quickly outpaced me, and I found myself barely keeping sight of the two as they rounded corners ahead of me.

I'd completely lost track of him when the sounds of a struggle broke out ahead. I saw that Sal had remained at an intersection, making sure I knew where they had gone. But the ominous hue of the walls, a cruel lavender casting dark plum shadows, told me that Pierce was just around the corner.

When I reached the bend, I was shocked to see Q flying through the air.

"Ungh!" he grunted as he slammed into the wall. He'd hit on his shoulder, but somehow managed to twist in midair to land gracefully. He fell into a crouch, his knives crossed before him, as he stared at Myron Pierce.

The man himself looked just as wasted and thin as he had the last time I'd seen him. His clothes were nothing more than filthy rags by that point. When he sensed my arrival, his heliotrope eyes swiveled toward me. They glowed in the dark with a madness born of the torch he held.

The flames illuminated his face, revealing hollow cheeks and deep eyes. His body was frail and deathly thin, and I wondered if he'd been surviving on tentacled rats for the last couple of weeks.

It looked like he'd found himself a small hide-away in Undertown all to himself. The place had scorch marks all over the walls and floor, and there were a couple piles of charred remains that might have been the space's previous inhabitants.

"Fo̱tísei to drómo," the man muttered, his tone aggressive. He seemed offended at our invasion of his new home. The flames surged as he spoke, flickering angrily.

"Yeah, you said that last time," I replied, inching my way forward. "Still not sure what it means."

"It's Greek," Q confirmed as he slowly stalked around his prey, circling behind him. "It means, 'light the way'."

"Light the way?" I echoed, as Pierce spun to try and keep track of the two of us. I set the evil box of evil down a safe distance away, and opened the lid.

"Don't ask me," the goblin said, keeping his eyes focused on the man. "Watch out for him. He's a lot faster and stronger than he should be."

"I figured," I replied. Pierce swung around toward me when I spoke, and purple fire trailed after the torch as it spun. "I saw your impressive goblin ninja skills on display there as he bounced you off the wall."

"Bite me, Hayes," the goblin growled, his eyes glinting dangerously across the way.

"Fo̱tísei to drómo," Pierce growled again, his voice growing louder. The torch grew brighter as he did, the flames reaching higher to lick at the ceiling of the chamber.

"Uh, I think we need to stop him," I said dumbly as I saw the air begin to swirl around him in a familiar fashion. "It was after he said it a third time that the warehouse went up in flames."

Q didn't need to be told twice. The goblin shot forward, faster than my eyes could track. He didn't make a sound as he approached the mad man, and Pierce didn't see him coming.

But the torch did.

A tendril of flame flickered out and around the man at the speed of light. I watched as it whipped at my friend, and hit him like a physical blow. Q's eyes widened in surprise as he was once more sent flying.

He bounced against some piping in a way that wasn't conducive to retaining consciousness; doubly so for a being of Faerie, as the metal scorched his head and neck when he thudded into it. But despite the force of the impact, I saw him shake his head, trying to clear it.

As he landed, I was already charging forward, snapping my baton out as I went. The flames swirled around toward me, the torch controlling that which Pierce could not. I knew that if they hit me like they had Q, I likely wouldn't be getting up.

But as they lashed toward me, a crimson fireball erupted from the floor. The burst washed into the tendril of purple flame, managing to redirect it enough for me to slip under it. Sal gave an angry hissing bark as power swirled around him, and another fireball erupted against the angry lilac tentacle that coiled back toward me.

I ended up in a slide as I closed on the man, and thrust my baton at his gut. The electrical charge crackled in the air as it snapped into him. Enough juice passed through the baton to send him writhing to the floor.

Except, you know, he didn't.

The man at least grunted, signifying that he felt the blow to some extent. But rather than dropping harmlessly, the man swung the torch at me. The bone-white object snapped across his front and hit me in the shoulder.

I lost time for a second. The next thing I knew, I was shaking my pounding head as I stirred against the far wall. The blow had sent me flying across the room, and I was slow to pick myself up.

I heard Q cursing in what I took to be Goblinese, and turned to find him doing his best to stay ahead of the violet flame that thrashed back and forth at alarming speed. It was almost as thick as my waist, but was as quick as a bull whip. Sal was with Q, trying to fight fire with fire, but the little salamander couldn't keep up.

By little, I mean Cocker Spaniel sized salamander that had coral and amber flames flickering all along his body. His feathered gills, normally retracted to where you couldn't see them, were spread wide as he shook them in an aggressive fashion. He belched fireball after fireball at the torch, but the tendril of flame swirled away from them and whipped across the floor.

Q saw it coming and managed to leap out of the way, but Sal didn't. The attack sent him spiraling through the air as it cut his legs out from beneath him. A surprised trill pierced the air, and then it was the salamander's turn to try and shake his head clear.

"Right," I said, looking for my baton. I found it lying in two unhelpful pieces, and I kicked at them in frustration. "Because it couldn't be easy."

I pulled the brass knuckles out and slid them over my gloves. A tingle of power rippled along my knuckles, and I pushed myself up as Q turned Pierce away from me.

With his attention elsewhere, I charged at the man from behind. The torch didn't miss my arrival, and the tendril of flame spun around toward me. I ducked as it passed, and felt fire wash over my right arm and shoulder. A scream escaped my lips as it burned the flesh along my neck, but then it was gone, whipping back toward Q to halt his sudden attack.

Somehow I managed to not pass out from the agonizing pain in my neck, and instead closed on Pierce. He turned toward me as I reached him, and my right cross caught him across the jaw.

I'm in pretty good shape, but I'm no fighter. I've got some lean muscle, but not nearly enough to hurt a supernatural baddie. And if Pierce weren't doing his Purple Lantern imitation, I'm sure I could have knocked him out. But the torch seemed to be fueling him in some way that left him too fast and too strong. My measly punch wasn't going to do anything against that type of power.

Thankfully, Q's magical brass knuckles packed a little more pop.

As my fist connected, the spell in the knuckles ignited. Kinetic energy lashed out, making the blow ten times what it should have been. The man staggered and spun, barely keeping to his feet.

"Thing versus Human Torch!" I shouted, my adrenaline helping me push past the pain. As Pierce righted himself, my left cross caught him, and he spiraled to the floor.

Which would have been great, if the damned torch weren't the thing I was really fighting.

Even as he fell to the side, the flame whipped back around toward me with blinding speed. I felt it wash across my legs, and my knees gave out as it knocked me head over heals. My helmet cracked against the concrete floor, and stars danced in my vision as I watched a periwinkle solar flare circle around toward my head.

A burst of salmon flame redirected it to my left as I rolled to my right. The living flame lashed against my spellbound leather jacket, and even Q's work wasn't enough to prevent it from burning to cinder beneath the intense fire. More pain spread across my arm and back, and I hissed through my teeth as I felt my flesh burn.

Sal leapt over my rolling form, and I barely caught sight of him as he was sent hurtling toward the ceiling by an upswing from the flame whip. He crunched against the surface overhead, but somehow seemed to try to claw at the flame itself. When it whipped back down and around, Sal clung to it, like a dog worrying at a bone.

I saw Q darting forward again, his face burned badly on one side. I missed the exchange where the torch had gotten him, but was glad to see him still up and moving. He darted toward the fallen Pierce, who was trying to right himself.

Q had his knives up, readying them for a killing blow. Part of me wished that he'd keep to the plan and leave Pierce alive, but I wasn't sure how much longer that would be an option. We were barely holding on.

As luck would have it, the torch saw Q coming. The tendril redirected, and Q barely had time to get the blades out of the way before Sal was sent crashing into him. The two spun away as the flame whipped them both across the room.

Pierce righted himself at the same time I did, and I saw his deranged eyes narrow as he held the torch aloft.

" ** _Fo̱tísei to drómo!_** " he screamed just as I leapt forward.

At his command, the spinning wall of flame sparked around him, scorching the floor in a circular pattern as it rose to the ceiling. When it reached the stone overhead, the flames rolled out, and suddenly the entire room was ablaze in amethyst light.

Every surface outside of the circle caught fire, as the subterranean chamber became a kiln of magical energy. Concrete shattered and crumbled to ash as the living fire torched everything in its path.

Fortunately for me, my leap had carried me inside the circle, so I wasn't turned to a char smear in those first moments.

The temperature in the circle shot up as I grabbed at Pierce. I struggled to catch my breath as the oxygen was torn from the space, and I sagged against the man. He just stared down at me unrecognizingly, as if he had no clue what I was doing there. Somehow he was unaffected by the heat and the flame, and simply screamed triumphantly as the room was incinerated.

 _The torch_ , I thought to myself. _The torch is protecting him from itself._

And if it would protect him, it might just protect me.

My hand fumbled for the magical artifact, which was too busy melting steel pipes to bother with stopping me. I felt along Pierce's arm until I reached the torch. His eyes grew indignant as he realized what I was trying to do, and he raised his other arm as if to smack me away.

Then my fingers wrapped around the torch, and the world changed.

One second, I was a mortal. A pitiful being of insignificance; no power, no strength, no purpose.

The next, I was a god.

Power hummed through me as I held the torch. Power unlike anything I could have ever imagined. The raw strength of it, the pure will of living flame, coursed through my very being. It strengthened me, making me something incredible. Filling me with power, and purpose.

I held the torch before me, gazing at the beautiful flames it emitted. It transfixed my gaze, and I couldn't look away. I heard a pitiful mewling from somewhere close, and realized that the worthless mortal that had possessed the torch before me was clinging to it, trying to keep it for himself.

I snapped a fist blindly at him, and felt it crunch against his face. He collapsed to the floor, his grip on the torch lost as he fell.

It left me in sole possession of its power. Sole bearer of the Light of the Lampades. The flames around the room redoubled as I held the torch aloft in triumph, the light flickering across the lenses of my glasses. I could feel the glow as my eyes began to shine, mirroring the torchlight.

This was power. This was purpose. With the torch, I could make a difference. I could burn away the old, and let something new rise from the ashes. Chicago would burn like it had before, even worse than the fires of legend. Buildings would crumble beneath my flames. And like a phoenix, something new would be reborn.

And not just Chicago. Not just this one place, in this one time. Any place. Many places. The world itself would burn, and the heavens would watch as the earth glowed violet in the Empty Night.

I reveled in the glory of my purpose, knowing that I would be the Harbinger of Light. The flames cracked the floors of the chamber, the walls beginning to crumble as my power grew—

Then there was a sharp pain in my wrist. Something jerked at it, and my arm was yanked to the side. My grip failed, and the torch tumbled away.

As soon as it was out of my hand, the fires disappeared, the air popping as they fizzled into nothing. Tendrils of smoke were all that remained, and I could barely see the torch as it flew through the air.

It landed with a thud against the open box lid before falling within. The impact was enough to jar it closed, and it snapped down over the torch with a deafening boom.

I gripped my burning wrist as I panted, unable to catch my breath.

The sigils burned into my glasses glowed slightly in the dark, as the protective spells Q weaved into them did their best to cool them in the intense heat. My vision cleared, and the illumination spell allowed me to look around at the chamber. The walls, ceiling and floor were charred black. What metal remained intact glowed red-hot; some of it was still hanging in place, while the rest pooled in molten puddles across the room.

The containment box was blackened as well, but whatever magics had been used on it kept it from being incinerated. Smoke seemed to swirl around it, and seeing it gave me chills.

I managed to tear my eyes away from it, and they fell upon the disheveled figure in the chamber's entrance. The woman stepped forward when I spotted her, and I saw that she wore golden armor here and there over white fabrics. The armor itself was more than singed, and black scorch marks crisscrossed her battle dress. A shield on her left wrist was misshapen from the heat, and I saw that the tip of the golden whip she'd snapped across my wrist had begun to crumble away.

"Gard," I breathed out as the blond woman came closer. Her attention was on the box, but my voice drew her eyes back to me. I saw soot marks on her face, and her hair was frizzed in places. She nodded in my direction.

"You…" I began, but stopped to catch my breath. "You saved me."

"I simply helped you help yourself," she replied. I couldn't say that her voice sounded harried, but it didn't sound all that steady.

As my mind rebooted, I remembered that I hadn't come alone. I spun around, looking for my friends. I found Q unwinding from where he'd been balled up in a corner. Sal was draped across him, panting heavily. "You guys okay?" I asked, my voice rough and raw from the heat stifling the room.

Sal gave an exhausted trill. Q just held a thumb up as he gazed around the place, taking in the damage. A couple portions of wall had crumbled, and another corner had collapsed. "Little guy kept me safe behind a fire wall," the goblin said breathlessly, his voice more raspy than usual.

I turned back to the woman, and found her standing before the box. She was studying it, a deep frown creasing her Nordic features.

"I… I thought if I didn't touch it directly…" I explained, and held up my gloved hand. But I was startled to find that the leather had burned away where I had held the torch. Even the brass knuckles on that hand were gone, the metal melted away. The skin beneath was unblemished; only that which had separated us had been turned to ash. I couldn't help but shiver, in awe of the sheer power it held.

"A sound strategy, Summerchild," the woman said, her attention returning to the box. "Had the lamp not been twisted as it was, that might have been enough."

"Twisted?" I asked as I stood beside her. I heard Q rise behind me, and a moment later he joined us.

"I did not understand the true nature of this box until the lamp was returned to it," she explained, her tone disapproving and somewhat appalled. "This chest was not designed to simply contain the thing; it was crafted to antagonize it. Torture it, in a way."

"Torture it?" Q rasped. Gard spared him a long look, as if weighing his question between simple curiosity and professional interest.

"Indeed," she finally answered. "It seems that the chest spent years twisting the torch, turning it from a passive tool of illumination into a savage weapon of destruction." The woman sighed heavily. "Whomever did this _wanted_ it to be maddened when someone finally took it up."

"But why?" I asked, confused. "What good does that do anyone?"

"There are many that gain from chaos and disorder. Such things are all too common in this age," she explained cryptically.

"Is there anything we can do?" I asked, wondering at it.

 ** _Fo̱tísei to drómo_** , a voice sounded in my head.

I might have jumped just a little. Gard and Q both glanced to me as I shook in place, staring at the box.

"I think it just spoke to me," I said weakly. I studied the engravings on the box, and wondered at how someone could do such a thing. The torch was a thing of beauty; it had no business being locked away—

Q's grip tightened on my wrist, causing me to wince in pain. I glanced at him in anger, only to realize that he'd stopped me only moments before I'd touched the box.

"Whoa," I said, taking a startled step back. I hadn't even realized what I was doing.

"Perhaps you shouldn't be left alone with this," Q said, his eyes narrowing as he studied me.

"I cannot take it," the woman explained. "My involvement has already exceeded that which it should. If I were to take possession of the torch, even for a brief time…" she shook her head.

"I'll keep it," Q said, turning back to her. "Can you at least help contact it's proper owner?"

"Indeed," Gard replied. "That has already been done. Although how long it will take her to arrive is anyone's guess."

"Really?" I asked, somewhat jumpy as my nerves shook. "I figured all you supernatural types could get about pretty easily." I really needed a cigarette. My neck, arm, and back were beginning to throb where I'd been burned, and I wanted to be out of that sauna.

And away from the box.

 ** _Fo̱tísei to drómo._**

"For those that travel in darkness, it is not always so easy to see one's way," Gard replied, her eyes on the box. "Especially for those that have lost their light."

"Right," I said, jumping only slightly when I felt Sal scrambled onto my shoulder. He was back to his normal size, and started flicking his tongue over the burns on my neck. His saliva cooled wherever it touched, and I sighed at the relief.

"Let's get this over with then," Q said, turning back to me. I nodded, and went to run a hand through my hair. It bumped against my helmet, which shifted awkwardly. I felt along it, noting the crack that had appeared in its surface rather than my head. I shook a little as the adrenaline from the fight began to wear off.

"Right," I repeated, trying to steel myself rather than quake in fear at that which was beyond my ability to comprehend. "There's a job to do."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

It took us almost half an hour to get back to the van.

Gard collected Pierce for us, managing to lift his slight form with ease and drape him over one shoulder. Q handled the box, which Gard wouldn't touch as long as it contained the torch. I was left to gather up anything of ours that had survived the inferno.

There wasn't much. The remnants of the burned brass knuckle made it into one of my pockets. Q retrieved the knives that he'd dropped, but had to wait until they'd cooled enough to touch. There was no trace of my baton.

Once we got to the van, Q strapped the box to the back of the bike and then took Pierce from Gard. She and I watched as he draped the unconscious man across the pyromaniac paraphernalia in the back, carefully making sure to leave Pierce's fingerprint smudges and DNA on everything without leaving his own.

The Nordic woman left while he was working, assuring us that she'd be in touch. When my partner finally deemed it ready, he put Pierce in the front and drove the van off. I was left with the bike to follow after him, all the while ignoring the urge to open the chest sitting behind me.

When I caught up with Q a minute later, he was walking away from the wrecked van. I could see where he'd run it into a electrical pole, and Pierce was now situated behind the driver's wheel. After Q hopped behind me on the bike, we left the scene of the unfortunate accident.

That was where the police would find him, with a plethora of fire starting equipment and one freshly cleaned sock.

* * *

I got a call from Robbins the next morning.

"They caught Myron Pierce last night," he said when I answered the phone.

"Who?" I asked. I was lounging on the couch and eating a bowl of cereal. Sal was continuing his ministrations on my neck, the natural properties of his saliva doing a miraculous job of healing the burns. He'd already worked on my arm and side, and Q had even allowed the little guy to do what he could for him.

"The pyromaniac," the Deputy Chief Inspector explained. "Civilians found him on the South-side. Apparently he crashed a stolen van into a post. When the cops arrived, they found all sorts of fire-starting equipment in the back."

"Oh yeah?" I said with feigned surprise. "That's a relief."

"Indeed," Robbins replied. "Seems your guess work was spot on, although he'd thought of some things you hadn't."

"Well, you can't win them all," I said humbly. "He confess?"

"Sort of," he said. "He's not right in the head. Keeps going on about magic fire and needing to burn everything."

"Sounds like the right guy, at least."

"They're going to put him in the psych ward for now," Robbins said with a sigh. "He's suffering from malnutrition from his time on the run, but they expect him to make a full recovery. At least physically."

"Good to hear," I said as I put my cereal bowl down. Sal jumped down onto the coffee table and started lapping at the remnants.

"Still, it makes one wonder what would drive a normal guy to such extremes," Robbins mused.

 ** _Fo̱tísei to drómo._**

"We'll probably never know," I said dismissively.

"Well, S.I. has some leg work to do, but this one is probably going to be a wrap," he said. "Why don't you swing by some day this week and provide your final notes on the case?"

Which was code for 'give me a file on what really happened'. But he couldn't say as much. Not over the phone, when the police had already taken too much interest in yours truly.

"Will do." I informed him. Which I would. It wouldn't contain everything; Robbins didn't want to know _that_ much. He just wanted assurances that there wouldn't be repeat issue a few months down the line.

After that, I hung up, and gave Sal a little high five.

* * *

Later that day, I found myself at Q's lab door. It was standing open, and he was scowling at me.

" _Woody,_ " he said, his wispy voice agitated. I jumped at the sound of it.

"Uh, what?" I asked, confused.

"You came down again," the goblin said tiredly.

"Oh," I said, looking around in embarrassment.

"Go back upstairs," he said as he closed the door.

 ** _Fo̱tísei to drómo._**

I turned and headed away.

* * *

I ended up getting a call from Penny the very next day. It seemed that my report couldn't wait, and Robbins wanted it on his desk ASAP. Which was fine, since I'd basically had it wrapped up before we even caught the guy.

When I arrived in the office Monday afternoon, Penny didn't have much to offer in the way of banter, and I found out why when she admitted me into the Deputy Chief Inspector's office.

As I entered, Lieutenant Karrin Murphy was leaving.

She nodded as she passed by, her eyes not quite as cold as they'd been the last time we'd seen each other. A cold chill still ended up shaking me as I wondered at her unexpected presence.

"Get in here, Hayes," Robbins said tiredly. I did so, closing the door behind me once Murphy had walked out of sight.

"What's she doing here?" I asked as I sat down. My hand twitched nervously as I held my bag in my lap.

"The police had some concerns," he explained. His voice was resigned, and he looked somewhat apologetic as he leaned back in his leather chair. "Specifically, that the man they arrested had neither the mental capacity to plan out his actions, nor the chemistry training to pull it off."

"Oh," I said lamely, as one of my legs started spasming. It was hard enough to rattle the pen jar on his desk, and I stopped when he glared at me.

"Not to mention the fact that their focus on him was based on another suspects identification; a suspect that just so happens to have the training and capability of doing what the man was accused of."

"Well shit," I said eloquently. "Are they investigating me?" I didn't add 'again', but I could have. Something told me that with S.I. behind it, I wouldn't get off as easily as I had when Crewe first came at me.

"No," he said, and his eyes glanced toward two piles of reports. They looked familiar. "When she implied that they would, barring an explanation into your involvement, I decided to let her see some of your previous case files."

"Oh," I said, my mind struggling to keep up. The first pile of reports were the filtered set; the second consisted of the secret files that no-one save Robbins and a select few of the upper brass knew about. The files that spelled out just what happened on those cases that couldn't be explained by mundane means. Files that would make me sound like a raving madman.

 ** _Fo̱tísei to drómo._**

"So what did she say?" I asked, trying to ignore the voice in my head. As I spoke, I was startled to find a cigarette between my lips. I hastily removed it, and put it back in the box I didn't recall pulling out.

"Basically?" he said, pausing dramatically. I waited, fearing the words that would sound as the death knell for my career. But he surprised me. "Basically, they plan on keeping your number on file."

"What?" I asked, bewildered. "Seriously?"

The Deputy Chief Inspector nodded. "It seems that they deal with quite a bit of… 'detail adjustment' in their duties as well. Sometimes they submit what really happened, but other times they have no choice but to take liberties with the truth. The brass doesn't like their annual reports to sound like campfire stories."

"Huh," I said, beginning to relax.

"You have my reports?" he asked pointedly. I nodded, and withdrew the two folders from my bag. He didn't bother looking at either at the moment.

"Are you going to show her that one as well?" I asked, suddenly glad that I'd hedged the truth more than usual.

"We'll see," he said simply. As he did, he pulled another envelop. "In the meantime, I've got something else for you."

 ** _Fo̱tísei to drómo._**

"I'm all ears," I told him, forcing a smile as I pretended to be my normal self. As I pretended I wasn't going mad. And at the rate it seemed, a lot faster than it had taken Pierce.

* * *

That night, Q found me trying to start a fire in the fireplace.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his tone bewildered.

"Starting a fire," I told him as I looked up.

"In the entertainment center?" he asked with a thin eyebrow raised.

"No, in the firepla—" I began, until I looked again.

I was kneeling in front of the flat screen, with the cabinet doors opened beneath it. I'd laid some wooden kitchen utensils across the cable box, and several spent matches lay smoking atop them.

"Fuck!" I shouted, shooting back in alarm. My body was shaking, and I quickly rose and paced back and forth. "Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

"It's alright," the goblin muttered.

"Sorry," I repeated. "I don't know why… must have zoned out." I nodded to myself. "I'll go start the fire in the fireplace."

I started to turn, but Q's crimson eyes caught mine. His head rotated slowly to look me over, as if studying me carefully. I stared back, my hand shaking beside me.

"Woody," he said softly, as gently as a goblin can manage. "We don't have a fireplace."

 ** _Fo̱tísei to drómo._**

"Right," I said, nodding too quickly as my stomach lurched into my throat. "I'm going to bed."

I made my hasty retreat as my roommate watched me go, no doubt wondering when I'd finally burn the place down around his head.

* * *

It was the third night after we took the torch from Myron Pierce that the doorbell finally rang.

I was a bit jittery. Q had confiscated my cigarettes when he found me burning them without smoking. I chewed on some cinnamon sticks to try and take the edge off, but it wasn't working. I tried watching television, but somehow ended up watching the Christmas DVD with the crackling fireplace video. When I turned to ask Q when we'd put that on, I saw him in the kitchen with the fire extinguisher.

Apparently someone had left all the kitchen towels in the oven when they were baking their phone-book.

The doorbell shook me from my reverie, and I uncurled myself from the couch. I tried to stand, but found my shoelaces tied together.

"Just trying to slow you down," Q grumbled irritably as he stood and headed for the front door. I untied my shoes while he checked on who was calling.

He was on his way back when I made it to the front hall. "She's here," he said as he headed toward the stairs. "Just wait for me."

I went to the door and peeked out the peephole.

It was well after dark, but the light outside our door illuminated the figure waiting. They cut a slight figure, cloaked in a robe of the darkest purple I'd ever seen. The material was so dark it was almost black, but subtle shades of plum and mulberry were visible as the wind shifted it. The person had their head down, and their face was shrouded in shadow.

I opened the door, and the figure lifted its head. "Hello…" I began, before trailing off.

The woman was old. Old as in ancient. Ancient as in epochs. Her face was lined with so many wrinkles that I wasn't sure there was a smooth millimeter in sight. Her lips were broken and chapped, and her breath was that of a corpse. I could see slightly into her mouth where her jaw hung limply, and saw that her teeth were long rotted. There was a shriveled black thing where her tongue should be.

But that wasn't the alarming part of her appearance.

The alarming part was her eyes. Or lack there of.

It's not that her eyes were missing. I mean, they were. But so were her eye sockets. The sunken hollows were there, but only wrinkled skin spanned the indents where her eyes should have been. There was no trace of them ever having existed.

"Uh," I said, as words failed me. "Hi."

A rattling wind escaped her lips, and I realized she was replying. What she tried to say, I couldn't begin to guess.

"You're hear about the, uh…" I began, but trailed off as her head tilted upward to look at me. Well, look at me if she had eyes. Instead, I just stared at those blank spaces.

Thankfully Q arrived with the box in hand, and I felt a chill in the air as he cracked the lid open. My eyes fell to the torch within.

 ** _Fo̱tísei to drómo!_**

It took everything I had not to reach out. My hand twitched at my side, so I stuck it in a pocket. My vision seemed to narrow, as if the torch were the whole of my universe. I knew that if I took it up, I could do anything. There was power there for the taking, and if I could just—

And then an old, wrinkled hand entered my vision, as the Lampad reached for what was rightfully hers. When her fingers closed on the torch, it seemed to twitch. It's hard to imagine an emotion to an inanimate object, but if I had to, I would have said the torch was… excited.

Those ancient fingers wrapped around the handle, and I watched as she took it up. But as she drew it from the box, the folds in her skin seemed to smooth out. The flesh, loose and spotted, began to tighten around the wrist as she lifted it before her. Purple flames burst forth from the basin atop it, but they weren't the angry and bitter flames I'd grown to expect.

These flames were happy and joyous. They danced with unadulterated glee as they were reunited with their other half. The lilac and lavender shades cast upon Q and I were full of mirth.

As my gaze followed the torch, the old woman faded from view. The cloaked figure remained, but no longer was she an ancient hag warring with Father Time over who was the senior of the two; the lines on her face faded as those on her hand and arm had, leaving a youthful visage of beauty.

The light played across the unrecognizable figure before me, and I was startled to see a pair of dazzling amaranthine eyes fix upon me. They were wide and gorgeous, their hues flickering like the flames she held. The cloak around her head slipped back, revealing a silky mane of mulberry tresses.

"Ef̱charistó̱," the stunningly beautiful Lampad whispered. My breath caught in my throat as she inclined her head toward me, and then Q.

"You're welcome," the goblin said, his coarse voice rough in my ears compared to the musical tones of the young girl. At his comment, she slowly reached out a hand toward the goblin. He rocked back slightly, but after a moment, allowed her to touch him. The light from the torch flared as she did, and I saw the still raw burns on his face slowly fade away.

Once he was whole, the Lampad turned her gaze back to me, and slowly shifted her hand to me. Her slender fingers grazed across the burns on my neck, and a pleasant cooling sensation rippled across my skin at her touch. It spread across me, and I felt it tingle as it restored my arm and back as well. I reached for my neck once she'd removed her hand, and felt nothing but smooth skin.

"Thank you," I whispered, awestruck by the surreal beauty and grace of the creature before me.

At my words, the Lampad inclined her head, deeper than she had before. When her opalescent eyes rose to meet mine, I thought my heart might stop.

Instead, I watched as she raised her hand again, her fingers curled. When she slowly opened them, I saw a small violet made of sparkling crystal sitting in her palm. Its colors shifted like the Lampad's eyes.

She gestured toward me, and I tentatively plucked it from her grasp. The crystal was cool to the touch, unnaturally so, but the heft of it left an impression of value.

Q sucked in a breath beside me as he saw the exchange. The Lampad turned to him, and after closing her hand again, opened it to reveal another crystalline flower.

"No," he rasped out, his tone as respectful as he ever managed. "I was his agent in this; nothing more," he added, nodding toward me.

The Lampad nodded slightly in understanding, and turned back to me, the second flower extended.

"What is this?" I whispered, shooting a glance at Q.

"It's… a symbol of her gratitude," he explained softly. "She feels indebted to you. You can claim a favor from her in return for your service."

"You don't want it?" I asked, surprised.

"We've got our arrangement," he insisted with a frown. "I can't claim a favor for a deed done in debt."

"And I'm supposed to take two?" I said in mild disbelief. I kept an eye on the beautiful girl, who's luminous eyes were hypnotizing. Q shrugged in my peripheral vision, and I was left wondering what to do. It seemed wrong to make two claims for one favor, but I didn't want to insult her offer.

Looking at the flower, I realized what it would be good for. "Can I… claim this favor now?" I asked, struggling to meet her gaze without blushing.

She tilted her head slightly, and I swallowed. "There's a man. He… came across your torch. It left him…" I said, trailing off. "He's not quite right. I was wondering if you could…"

Before I finished, the Lampad broke into a smile that would light my soul for the rest of my days. She inclined her head in consent, and the flower in her palm dissolved into a million motes of bluish red light. They drifted through the air, swirling about, before disappearing into the night.

Several motes remained hovering over the Lampad's palm, and she gently reached out and touched my chest. Rather than lighting upon my shirt, the magic embers passed through it, and flooded my body with a sudden and overwhelming warmth and comfort.

"Thank you," I choked out, as the winter night's air lost some of its bitter cold, and whatever hold the torch had over me was released.

The Lampad inclined her head again, her bearing regal. With her prize claimed and her debts satisfied for the moment, she began to depart. But as she started to turn away, her joy at being reunited with her torch bubbled over, and she quickly turned back and lighted a gentle kiss upon my cheek before disappearing in a swirl of violaceous light.

I stood on the sidewalk, my pulse as quick as silver and as light as my spirit.

Q simply rolled his eyes and headed back into the firehouse, leaving me alone to stare out into the not so dark night.


End file.
